


Fancy That

by kelleigh (girlfromcarolina)



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Western, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom Jensen, Corsetry, Cowboys & Cowgirls, Crossdressing, Discussion of Switching, Guns, Gunslingers, Happy Ending, Harlequin, Horseback Riding, Idealized Western, Kissing, M/M, Prostitution, Top Jared, Unsafe Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-30
Updated: 2014-06-30
Packaged: 2018-02-06 21:19:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 29,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1872858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlfromcarolina/pseuds/kelleigh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Morgan Traveling Exhibition & Gun Competition is recognized throughout the West as the finest showcase of shooters, ropers, and riders this side of the Mississippi River.  Jensen, known better as <i>The Texas Rose</i>, joined J.D. Morgan’s troupe after the promoter rescued him from a prostitution camp when he was barely a teenager.  Life on the road gives Jensen the family he’s always wanted, freedom to express his desires, and plenty of lovers, but Jensen longs for a partner who sees him as more than just a pretty face in a fancy costume.  When he walks into a saloon the night before a competition and finds a tall, slim gunslinger standing alone at the bar, Jensen senses that passion could burn bright between them.  However, Jensen knows that the only thing more dangerous than a gunslinger's aim would be falling in love with one. Though they both make their home on the road, Jensen's job is to celebrate life. Jared's job is to end it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fancy That

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2014 round of **SPN J2 Big Bang**.
> 
> [Master Post on LiveJournal](http://kelleigh.livejournal.com/343958.html).
> 
> This is, by _no means_ , in keeping with history. It is an **idealized Old West** where cross-dressing wasn’t common, but neither it nor homosexuality was frowned upon. It is also a **Harlequin** story and proud of it :)

**FANCY THAT  
[One Day Out West]**

“I can’t wait to take a bath,” Danneel says. Her voice is the first thing Jensen has heard for ten miles besides the _clop-clop_ of shoed hooves on the packed-dirt trail and the occasional shout from the coachmen calling out to one another. 

“A real one,” she clarifies unnecessarily as she reaches up to twirl a stray curl that’s tickling her ear. The rest of her sunset-colored locks are wrapped and pinned at the back of her head with small combs. “Preferably in a copper tub, with lavender soap. Or rose petals. I’m not choosy.”

She certainly is, but Jensen doesn’t correct her; their private coach is small and Danneel’s reach is impressive. She can afford to be particular, but why would she bother spending her own money when the West is teeming with men willing to part with coin to earn her favor? Jensen, on the other hand, treats himself with his own money. Men are welcome to buy him drinks or petty trinkets, but he’d never tell a stranger about the things he truly wants.

The sway of the coach has lulled Jensen into a restful state where the miles pass like birds soaring over the grasslands. Shaded mountains on the horizon have given way to the gently rolling hills over which they’re winding, gradually traveling further west. To the south, Jensen knows there’s a railroad being built, its metal arms crawling closer to the Pacific Ocean every day, and in its path, homesteads become settlements; settlements become outposts; outposts become towns.

Towns are what they want. Some are still too rough around the edges. J.D. Morgan—the owner of their little travelling show—does his best to steer the caravan around those, unwilling to risk his livelihood against cowherds and lawless gunslingers in places where gravestones outnumber townsfolk. Others consider themselves too civilized for Morgan’s brand of entertainment. Jensen has no idea where they’re heading now, but he trusts the boss; Morgan always knows which towns are ripe for a show.

Mild morning sun slants through the windows of the stagecoach, but Jensen and Danneel sit beyond its reach. Sun-weathered skin, or freckles in Jensen’s case, is for farmers and ranch hands. Morgan’s customers want to see soft, linen-white skin—the more, the better—and smooth, unblemished shoulders. But if the next competition isn’t for a week or more, the first thing Jensen does is spend a morning riding shot-gun on one of the coaches, forearms bare and chin tilted towards the sky. Perhaps he would even convince Misha to saddle one of the spare horses for him, and ride away a long day on the trail. Through careful practice, Jensen has been able to train the natural bowleggedness out of his gait, but one good day of riding would bring it right back.

“What are you looking forward to?”

Jensen blinks, coming out of his musings. “A real bed,” he says, “with feather pillows and a quilt that doesn’t smell like a horse’s rear end.”

“Someone to share it with, perhaps?” Danneel winks before looking down at the lace glove she’s been halfheartedly trying to mend for the last hour.

“Certainly not a requirement.” 

Jensen reaches over and takes the glove and needle out of Danneel’s hands. She sighs and leans back as he begins repairing the seam between the thumb and forefinger. She’s rubbish with the mending, but Jensen’s never met a better cook or card player.

It’s not that he’s opposed to the kind of companionship she’s implying, but he’s grown weary of the men in these two-horse towns. The attention is always welcome—he wouldn’t have a job without it—but he never gets more than one night.

True, Jensen rarely wants more than that with the men he chooses to take to bed, though there have been a handful he wouldn’t have minded seeing when he woke up the next morning. Those are the only partners Jensen bothers to remember. He can recall the way one of them, a well-dressed railroad financier, touched his bare hip. Whisper-soft, the way Jensen imagines running his hand through a cloud would feel. With another, a ranch foreman with deep blue eyes, it was the manner in which he undressed Jensen, each item treated delicately, as if he’d never handled such fine fabric.

Jensen’s been surviving on scraps, mere pieces of what he really wants.

“Stop it.”

“Hmm?”

“You’re too melancholy,” Danneel says. “Picture sleeping in a hotel tonight. Fresh linens—”

“Meat that isn’t roasted on a stick,” Jensen adds.

“A game of poker with actual _money_ at stake!”

Jensen smiles. “Has winning against our boys gone sour?”

“Misha bets with horse feed and apples— “

“So give those to me,” Jensen says. “I love apples.”

“And Ty wagers bullets.”

“Those can come in handy.” Jensen hands the glove back to Danneel. She inspects the seam before snipping off the tail of the thread with the dainty pearl-handled knife Jensen gave her last winter. “I’m sure you’ll make them earn their losses back.”

Danneel smirks, leaning into the sunlight for a moment. She looks beautiful bathed in the warm glow. Jensen likes her better this way, without the painted lips or rouged cheeks, no restrictive corset or delicate stockings. In the dusty miles between towns, the entire troupe is able to relax, Morgan included. No pressure to perform, no false charms.

Despite long, dusty days on the trail and never knowing where he’ll lay his head down at night, Jensen doesn’t mind life on the road. The journey has been strange and wonderful, seemingly never-ending. It’s not always enjoyable, but he’s grateful for the people who share it with him. Danneel and Morgan, the eccentric horse-hand Misha, even their gun-hand Ty and the rest of their company hold special places in Jensen’s heart.

Without them, Jensen doesn’t know what his lot would be. The way his life was heading when Morgan found him, it’s a good bet he would’ve ended up poor, alone, or worse.

Jensen turns his thoughts around before Danneel calls him out on his melancholy once again. It’s of no use dwelling on what ifs and might have beens. Instead, Jensen finds comfort in the peacefulness of the moment, in the sway and roll of the stage and the cries of the prairie birds flying above, and the promise of new adventures that await them.

~~~

J.D. Morgan has been selling entertainment since he was fifteen years old and taking tickets for a Paris-inspired revue in Kansas City. When he grew tired of making money for other men, he set out on his own with seventy-five dollars and a head full of ideas.

Years later, luck brought him to Jensen.

By then, Morgan had earned himself a reputation for staging the best shows money could buy. He was in Texas to court a pair of wealthy men out of whom he hoped to wring a sizeable investment. Morgan soured on the notion when he found out what the men considered to be _entertainment_.

The place was nicknamed Coates’ Town after the man who ran it. William Coates, a friend to the local ranchers, had set up his camp in a sweet little valley along one of the East Texas trade roads where he offered diversions for any traveler willing to pay. Prostitutes, gambling, and liquor—Coates welcomed customers with a bright smile that hid the darker side of the business.

While Morgan shared a bottle of whiskey with his potential investors and watched the colorfully and provocatively dressed girls and boys wooing Coates’ customers, his gaze was drawn to one boy in particular who was carrying bottles to the bar and removing the empties. Mistaking Morgan’s interest, his potential investors slipped Coates enough money to ensure the boy’s _appearance_ at their table.

When the boy approached, skinny hands wringing together in front of his stomach, Morgan saw that he was indeed beautiful, drawing attention from all corners of the main tent. However, as he came closer, Morgan noticed his hollow gaze and bony elbows, bluish bruises around his arms and throat. Whoever this boy was, he was clearly underfed and mistreated.

He timidly introduced himself as Jensen.

Playing along, because he suspected any refusal would be taken out on the poor boy’s hide, Morgan escorted Jensen to an empty tent despite the shudders that wracked his narrow shoulders. After swearing that he had no intention of harming Jensen or taking advantage, Morgan asked what brought him to Coates’ Town.

Jensen hadn’t been gifted with an easy childhood. The fever claimed both his parents before he was ten years old. His grandmother tried her best to school him, but a bad winter took her, too. Without family, Jensen had to steal and scrounge in order to survive. It wasn’t a terrible way to live, unless he got caught. And when Jensen was fourteen, he got caught by the wrong people.

The men from whom he’d attempted to pilfer a few coins turned out to be thieves themselves, and they recognized the opportunity in Jensen’s plush lips and wide, innocent eyes. They brought him to Coates who in turn acted the part of magnanimous benefactor. Coates graciously repaid the men once Jensen offered to work off his _debt_ through menial labor at the camp.

At least, that’s what Coates told Jensen.

Morgan knew the truth. It was obvious given how easily Coates agreed to let Morgan’s businessmen _buy_ the boy for his pleasure. He enjoyed beautiful things, but the thought of hurting Jensen turned Morgan’s stomach. He couldn’t spend another minute in Coates’ Town, but he refused to leave Jensen behind. 

He lost his investors, but there was plenty more money out there, he claimed, and after settling Jensen’s remaining debt with Coates (with guns drawn but no bullets fired), the two of them were off. 

Fearful he’d traded one master for another, Jensen was wary of Morgan’s plans despite his gratefulness. Jensen was well aware of the way the camp worked—with interest, he’d never be able to repay what he owed Coates—and it was only a matter of time until he would have been forced to prostitute himself like the others instead of earning his keep carrying crates and cleaning up after the horses. The day he met J.D. Morgan was the first time someone had paid Coates money for him, and though he wasn’t opposed to the idea of warming a man’s bed, Jensen wanted to have a choice.

His doubts lingered until Morgan took him to New Orleans where he was introduced to the Bourbon Beauty, Danneel, at a well-known brothel in the city. She took one look at Jensen, then nearly sixteen years old, threw her arms around him, and nearly caused him to choke on a cloud of vanilla perfume.

It was Danneel who introduced Jensen to the art of seduction. In the brothel, he learned how to pleasure others and satisfy his own desires at the same time. It was there that Jensen learned who he truly was.

When Morgan returned to New Orleans with a proposition for the two of them, they didn’t refuse. Jensen can’t remember who said yes first, but neither was willing to let the other seek fortune and adventure alone.

Their trio was forged, and the West was waiting.

~~~

The caravan comes to a stop well past midday atop a low, grassy mesa. Morgan appears outside their coach wearing a smile for his two beauties.

“I’ve heard good things about this town,” he tells Jensen and Danneel. “The railroad hasn’t quite made it through these parts yet, but it’s growing. There are still a few big cattle ranches in the area, too,” Morgan adds with a raised brow.

Ranches mean ranch hands, a whole slew of them. Seeing that it’s Friday afternoon, those boys will be heading into town with a week’s pay in their pockets, eager for any excuse to spend their coin. Liquor, gambling, a pretty girl…it hardly matters, but Morgan will have their troupe pulling in just in time to provide another option.

No one can claim that J.D. Morgan doesn’t know what he’s doing. The reputation he’d carried when he met Jensen has only gained momentum over the years. Jensen is proud of the small part he’s played in Morgan’s success.

“Think you two can be ready within the hour?” Morgan glances at his Sterling pocket watch. “I’m sending Cain ahead to check things out, but I’m aiming to hit town before the cattle boys are too drunk to understand what I’m saying.”

“Before they’ve spent all their money on whiskey,” Danneel adds, pulling her satchel onto the seat. “Don’t worry, sugar, we’ll be ready.”

“You always are.” With a wink, Morgan’s gone to check on the rest of his company. No doubt making sure that Stephen, J.D.’s best rider, and his mustang Arrow are ready to show off their racing skills, and that Stephen’s cousin Robbie is sober enough to lasso a few railposts. He’ll ask Misha if the rest of the horses are fit enough for the exhibition and consult with Sheppard, a sour-faced man hailing from across the Atlantic Ocean.

Mark Sheppard is the only person Morgan trusts (beyond himself) with the troupe’s money. Though he might consider trusting Jensen and Danneel as well if they wanted to bother learning the books. Sheppard has his own system of accounting, not to mention he becomes rather prickly if another else tries to interfere, but he’s nothing if not loyal to Morgan.

“Are you wearing the red or the teal?” Danneel asks.

“Teal,” Jensen says. He pulled his satin corset and matching skirt from his trunks that morning.

“Saving the red for a special occasion?”

“Perhaps.”

Jensen and Danneel have perfected this routine over the years, learning to make do without proper accommodations. Hotel suites, backrooms, wagon beds, and shaded groves have all served as dressing rooms. The two of them act as mirrors for each other as they trade ordinary travel garments for richer silks and delicate lace. 

Danneel’s nimble fingers are able to cinch Jensen into his corset faster than anyone else. Once he’s laced in, Jensen returns the favor. Her cornflower blue corset is trimmed in ivory lace, gold satin bows sitting over her hips. More lace caps her narrow shoulders, and fine, gold stitching runs the length of the corset from bust to bottom, complimenting the layered gold and ivory ruffles of her skirt.

Each of them owns the finest powders and creams money can buy. Morgan spares no expense. He’ll purchase the finest fabrics, horses, firearms; he views everything as an investment.

There’s fine talc perfumed with the loveliest fragrances from Paris; iridescent powder made from crushed pearls to soften their complexion and make their cheeks glow. Jensen uses more on his face than Danneel, thanks to his freckles, because no amount of scrubbing with buttermilk, lemon, and sugar has bleached the sun sprinkles across the bridge of his nose and across his cheeks.

For the final touches, the best crème rouge imported by one of J.D.’s numerous associates on the East coast highlights their cheekbones in a healthy way. They use pencils made of dyed beeswax to darken the tops of their eyelids and shadow the corners of their eyes with burnt cork spread using fine, sable brushes.

After approving one another’s appearance, Danneel sees to her pinned, wet-set curls while Jensen removes his prized wig from its box.

Last night after setting up camp on the trail, Jensen treated the strands with golden oil, brushed through until they shone in the firelight. He pinned each section carefully before setting it aside for the rest of the night. Now he removes each pin and ribbon and lets the soft waves free around his fingers. Without the aid of a looking glass, Danneel helps him settle the wig over his hair, which has been slicked back and flattened with thinned wax.

They’ve just finished adjusting their stockings and preparing their headpieces when Morgan raps his knuckles on the side of the coach. “Nearly ready?”

Caught tickling Danneel’s shoulder with a plume of teal feathers, Jensen quickly pulls his hand back. “We’ll be through by the time we hit town.”

“Fine,” Morgan says, sliding his gaze away from Danneel’s stocking-covered feet. “Cain’s back from scouting. This town’s got two hotels and a few saloons of varied repute. No shortage of card tables—seems folks around here appreciate games of chance.” His dark eyes are bright, eager. “I want to showcase everything,” he continues. “This is the biggest town for more than fifty miles. We can make enough here to head to California for a longer stay.”

That is a fine tune for Jensen’s ears. He’s wanted to see the Pacific Ocean since hearing stories as a boy, often dreaming of white-capped surf and long tracks of warm sand. Sometimes men would come through Coates’ Town telling tales of California, and young Jensen quickly became enamored with the idea of someday escaping to the western coastline.

“Go on then.” Danneel shoos their boss. “Let us finish up.”

Morgan slaps the door and grins. “You two look beautiful already. I’ll go tell Misha to get us moving again.”

Danneel can’t sit still once they’re underway. Jensen knows that she’s looking forward to the first night in a new town. He’s never met anyone as capable of reading a room the way Danneel can, using her intelligence and experience to single out the biggest purses in the room. Not necessarily the boastful men playing cards in all their finery like peacocks (those are the easy targets), but the hidden gems as well.

It’s more difficult for Jensen. There will always be men whose tastes favor Jensen’s form over Danneel’s whether they make their interest known or not, and he has no doubt he’ll be able to charm them into putting money down on the exhibitions. Jensen will smile and enjoy the thrill of the competitions, putting on the same act he always does.

Danneel can have whoever she chooses; Jensen hardly walks with that kind of luck. 

In the haven of his daydreams, Jensen imagines meeting a kind and handsome stranger who’s spellbound by his performance but even more captivated by the man beneath the illusion.

Jensen’s musings are a far cry from the reality he faces. Experience has taught him that the less his lovers see of the man is really is, the better they treat him. Few are cruel, but most of the men Jensen sleeps with would prefer not to look beyond the soft curls of his wig, the painted blush on his cheeks.

The longer he goes without meeting a man with whom he can truly connect, the harder it is for Jensen to hang onto his cheerful disposition. There are times when Jensen wishes he could leave the trappings of his act in his trunks, work with Misha and the horses, or patrol the town with Ty while he listens to the Southerner tell tales of growing up on the bayou.

But J.D. needs him, and that’s enough for Jensen to set aside his daydreams and put on the best show he can, flirting with any man whose gaze lingers a little too long on his cinched-in waist. At the very least, he can look forward to a warm bath and a night off the trail.

~~~

They hit town just as the sun begins drawing her golden cloak over the horizon. The oil lamps have been lit outside the saloons, dancing red and orange flames welcoming passerby in for a drink. The two competing hotels have tried to upstage one another with brightly decorated windows and inviting music.

As Stephen gathers the riders and Sheppard hands out posters for his runners to hang around town, Morgan directs his beauties to a saloon on the corner.

“Go on and dazzle them,” he instructs with a smile. “I’ll be right behind you.”

From the street, this saloon is indistinguishable from the many others Jensen has visited: swinging doors, chipped scrollwork paint on the windows, and the smell of rye reaching the boardwalk out front. It’s noisy already—the cattle hands must’ve ridden in early, meaning they’ll be good and loose for Morgan’s introduction.

Nothing Jensen can see sets this saloon apart from others in nameless towns across the frontier. But he ought to know better; it’s what’s on the inside that truly matters.

Jensen singles him out as soon as he walks into the saloon alongside Danneel. 

The man is slim with a brooding brow. He stands belly-up to the dusty bar, a doe-colored duster falling just shy of his ankles. There are no spurs on his well-cared for boots, and there is a faded cavalry hat slung between his broad shoulders, letting the weak sunlight touch on his sweat-matted hair. Even from the door, Jensen can see how long Slim’s brown hair is. Jensen owns a pearl-handled comb; his fingers are suddenly itching to draw its teeth through those strands until they’re touchable and soft. Maybe wrap it around his fingers after a hot bath while it’s wet and shining… 

There’s a _woosh_ of air as the batwing doors swing shut at his back. Jensen leans into Morgan’s left side, demurely tucking his chin. On Morgan’s right, Danneel’s petal-stained pout is already directed towards a group of wranglers who’ve come to town after a long week, no doubt looking to part with some of their wages. 

All eyes are on the three of them; must be a rare thing for these dingy farmers, rustlers, and gun-hands to see such resplendent finery, or such an unusual trio. 

“Well now!” Morgan’s voice claps like thunder, shaking some life into the saloon. _Quiet_ is not in his repertoire. “It seems to me that there might be some fine ropers and riders in this crowd.”

That gets a few murmurs swirling. Jensen’s heard Morgan’s speech dozens of times, so he doesn’t need to listen; his job is the crowd. He swishes the plumage in his honey-brown wig, blue and teal feathers sweeping the dusty air away from his face. Tosses a wink towards a table full of rustlers in the back and hitches his bare shoulder. Jensen knows his elaborate getup doesn’t actually fool anyone (well, maybe a few of the cowboys who’ve been kicked by a mule one too many times), but it’s a damn good illusion.

“My name is J.D. Morgan, and I run the _best_ exhibition of shooting, roping, and riding this side of the mighty Mississippi River!” Morgan’s got the crowd’s attention now. “If you think you’ve got what it takes, I invite y’all to try your luck against the best of the West! Maybe even win a brand new Winchester rifle!”

Danneel displays the Winchester Model 1873 that Morgan hands over, her delicate, lace-gloved fingers caressing the stock. Like flies on molasses, every gaze in the room is stuck on her red hair, her sinful smirk, her suggestive touch. Except Slim’s. His back remains turned to the rest of the saloon, but Jensen holds his stare in the dirty mirror behind the bar, sweeping his lashes over his cheek. A small invitation made worthwhile when Slim runs one calloused finger around the rim of his glass. Jensen reads more in that subtle gesture than some of the most elaborate propositions he’s received.

After that, Jensen doesn’t mask his interest in Slim’s form. It’s obvious that the man is no cowboy or ranch hand like so many others in the room. He’s a gunslinger up and down, trying to hide his true profession in the casual stretch of his long, _long_ legs. Slim’s keeping tabs on the entire dingy saloon by way of that mirror, keen eyes roaming but always coming back to Jensen.

A rough voice shouts from the direction of the poker tables. “That rifle’s gonna be mine!” Not to be outdone, someone else calls out: “You ain’t a better roper than me! I’m gonna win it!”

A chorus of boasts roars through the saloon.

Morgan is grinning; a competitive crowd is good for business. “You’d better come out this afternoon and put your money where your mouth is! Now, if you gentlemen have any questions, I’m sure these two will be happy to provide answers.” He draws Jensen and Danneel forward as if they’re an offering. “Say hello to my Bourbon Beauty and my Texas Rose.”

The floorboards shake as the men cheer, bottles rattling behind the bar adding their own song, and Jensen soaks up the attention.

Outside, the commotion Stephen and the rest of the riders are causing carries into the saloon. Shouts and whoops, barkers calling out to the crowds gathered on the sidewalk. Jensen hadn’t bothered to learn the name of the town, but Morgan was right about the money they’ll take in. There are plenty of people, residents and transients alike, and a handful of saloons doing their part to keep the men liquored up and willing to part with their wages.

Danneel is quickly swept up by the crowd, and Jensen would be worried if he couldn’t pick out Ty and Cain standing at opposite ends of the saloon. The two burly men are there to snuff out any sign of trouble.

Cain is the quiet sort, tall and bearded. Melancholy on his best days. But when he decides to speak, his voice is rich and deep, his mind full of myths and tales. Jensen would ask where Cain learned them, but his eyes are the saddest when he speaks, so Jensen refrains.

Ty, a former soldier whose soul hadn’t yet recovered from the war, joined Morgan’s troupe down in New Orleans. Alone, and with no desire to return to his family’s old farm, he had leaped at J.D.’s offer of a job. Over the years, Ty’s good humor has gradually returned. Though nothing will ever replace the brothers he lost during the war, Ty credits his new _family_ with helping him live again.

Normally, Jensen would be spinning his own circle of admirers. Men with a gleam in their eyes and eager hands, keen to paw at Jensen’s body beneath the fabric and lace. But today, he sidles up to the bar where Slim’s contemplating another whiskey.

They make quite a picture in the mottled glass behind the bar. Slim with his faded duster and dark pants, linen shirt and an olive handkerchief pulled below his throat—all meant to protect Slim from the elements and a hard life of riding alone. Next to him, as conspicuous as a peacock in a barnyard, stands Jensen with his tailored finery and bustle, the aqua satins and black lace playing up his milky complexion.

Slim hitches his elbow up onto the bar, duster swinging aside and giving Jensen a flash of his gunbelt. He wears it tight, years of experience settling it in just the right spot for a quick draw. A Colt revolver with an ivory grip sits in the holster—ironically named the Peacemaker, it’s a gunslinger’s weapon of choice. 

They match stares for a moment, commotion around them all but forgotten, before Jensen (who’s never short on courage) leans forward.

“I bet you’re a decent shot,” he says, letting his fingers touch the warm ivory. Slim doesn’t stop him, allowing Jensen’s hand to trace the outline of his gun, the heavy stitching on the holster. Jensen intends on teasing, hand so close to the undoubtedly impressive second _piece_ tucked behind Slim’s pants.

Slim grins. The sight is like a shot of good liquor hitting Jensen’s stomach. 

“Lookin’ for a demonstration?”

Jensen likes the sight of white teeth, a man who doesn’t dirty his mouth with cheroots or tobacco, although Slim clearly sours his gut with whiskey. A man needs vices, Jensen figures, all the while hoping that Slim’s got more than one.

“Maybe,” Jensen tells him, sweeping the long strands of his wig over his shoulder. “If you pony up the fee.” Slim raises an eyebrow, forcing Jensen to clarify: “For the exhibition, of course. You can take home that rifle if you win.”

“I’ve got a rifle.”

“Then I’ll just have to find another prize to entice you, cowboy.”

Slim’s eyes flash like lightning on the mesa. He takes a step forward, boot heel thumping hard on the wooden floor. Jensen fills his lungs with the warm scents Slim carries: sun, sand, leather, and gunpowder.

“Don’t call me cowboy.” Slim says it with rye on his breath and a promise written in the corner of his mouth. 

“You never gave me a name.”

Slim picks up his shot glass and swallows in one go. Jensen shivers; he’s gone and struck gold. 

“It’s Jared.” He waves for another drink, but Jensen shoos the barkeep away before he can pour. If Jared was just another mark, Jensen wouldn’t care, but he prefers his men sober.

“Well, I’m known as the Texas Rose, but you can call me Jen.”

“Jen?”

Jensen winks. “Pretty, isn’t it?”

Jared looks him up and down. Jensen’s no stranger to a thorough regard, but Jared’s inspection feels more like a caress, and a flush spreads from the base of his throat up to his cheeks. As Jared’s gaze moves down past the ruffled layers of his skirt, Jensen brings his foot to rest on the boot-rail running beneath the bar. Smitten men have been known to pen poems about his legs, wrapped pretty words around his calves and toes; Jensen figures it can’t hurt to flash one of his best features.

“Sure is,” Jared says, pulling his eyes away from Jensen’s boots to glance around the saloon. 

Danneel’s perched on the edge of a poker table, leaning over the shoulder of a well-dressed man and whispering in his ear. No one else at the table is paying attention to their cards, meaning the man Danneel’s favoring should win without much trouble. Hopefully he’s willing to repay her attention by betting on the exhibitions tomorrow.

Jared is studying the way she works the men around her, leading them all to the same end. Normally Jensen would be behaving the same way, but he wants Jared to see him as more than an enticement.

Jared looks back at Jensen, expression shuttered. “Might be too pretty for the likes of me,” he says, regret in his low timbre. 

But Jensen won’t have Jared thinking he’s too rough, or too poor. Hell, Jared has owned Jensen’s attention since he walked into the saloon on Morgan’s arm.

“Maybe I’m looking for something more substantial,” he offers, trying to keep the nerves out of his voice.

Jared opens his mouth, but whatever he’s going to say is cut off as he looks over Jensen’s shoulder. Jensen turns and sighs. As if Jensen has summoned him by thought alone, Morgan is back, motioning for his two ‘beauties’ to join him. 

Jared is contemplating his empty glass and tossing coins onto the bar when Jensen lays a hand on his arm. In his soft calfskin boots, Jensen is nearly as tall as the gunslinger, so he tips as close to Jared’s ear as he can without letting his lips touch skin.  
“Promise me you’ll sign up for the exhibition,” Jensen whispers. “In fact…” With his free hand, he slips a few of Jared’s coins into his palm. “This takes care of the fee, so you have to show up tomorrow. Noon, out in front of the Royale Hotel.” He drops the coins into a hidden pocket within his skirt.

“What about the prize?” Jared asks as Jensen reluctantly pulls away. Across the saloon, Morgan is waiting impatiently with Danneel already on one arm.

Jensen smiles and turns away, swaying his hips as he heeds Morgan’s call.

“Win,” he says glancing back over his shoulder, “and you’ll see.”

~~~

When they’ve got good money (and the town is more than a rail-post and a spittoon), Morgan books a pair of hotel rooms for him and his ‘beauties’ while the rest of the troupe makes camp with the wagons and horses beyond the town limits. They tend to cause less of a stir that way.

After leaving the first saloon, Morgan leads Jensen and Danneel up the street to the Royale Hotel where their luggage is being unloaded. The richly paneled lobby is bustling with onlookers trying to see what all the commotion is about on the street beyond, but Morgan escorts them through.

Morgan’s able to purchase two luxurious rooms on the second floor, undoubtedly the best this hotel has to offer. Most of the folks passing through won’t be able to afford more than basic room and board, but J.D. enjoys taking a break from the road as much as his beauties do, leaving the camp in Misha’s capable hands. 

After seeing that their trunks make it upstairs, J.D. tells Jensen and Danneel to freshen up.

“I’ll be back in time for supper,” he says. “I’ve reserved a table in the dining room, unless you’d rather take your meal up here.”

“We’ll meet you downstairs,” Jensen says, already dreaming about the way the feather pillows are going to feel beneath his head.

As soon as the door closes behind J.D., Danneel wheels on Jensen. “I saw you with that cowboy.”

“He’s not a cowboy,” Jensen peels off his gloves and flexes his fingers. “Just a gunslinger I was hoping to recruit for tomorrow. He seemed like the kind of man to have a reputation.”

“Either way, he was handsome.”

Jensen shrugs, unwilling to show his hand. “I couldn’t tell under all the dirt.”

“Oh, _Jensen_ ,” Danneel sighs. “You can’t lie to me.”

Their camaraderie is born from sharing close quarters like this while they travel throughout the West. Danneel, Morgan, and Jensen have been staging this show for years, adding to their company as they go. Ty joined them right away; they met Misha in Oklahoma where he was training horses for a stagecoach company. Sheppard joined up while the troupe was passing through Amarillo; a former gambler, Sheppard recognized Morgan from a show he’d seen in Kansas years ago.

Others have come and gone along the way, but the rest of them have remained loyal to Morgan and to one another. However, being close brings its fair share of problems as well. Sometimes lines get crossed.

Danneel and Morgan take a _ride_ every now and then—he’s always been a handsome man—but Jensen prefers to find his own mounts outside their number, though Morgan’s gotten drunk enough to end up with his mouth on Jensen’s cock a handful of times. Even Misha and Jensen have found themselves getting close out on the trail a time or two, but their intimacy has been limited to a handful of heated embraces. 

Jensen’s gut tells him that both Misha and J.D.’s desires lean more towards women than men. Despite the comfort they provide, Jensen doesn’t pressure either of his friends for more.

For once, the room they’re in has a decent mirror paired with a vanity. An attendant has already seen to the oil lamps; they fill the room with a warm amber glow. Danneel grabs her toiletries and beckons Jensen over to the embroidered stool. 

“Come sit, sugar. Your rouge needs to be touched up.”

Danneel was raised in that New Orleans brothel, gaining an adept hand with combs and powders when she was very young. Jensen wouldn’t look half as good without her help. And he loves to look good. Jensen’s no amateur; dressing up isn’t about being a _funny cowboy_. He’s a performer and he needs to look the part.

“You can have this room,” Danneel says, winking at Jensen as she brushes light green powder above his eyelids. She’s already darkened his lashes with kohl ink, a smoky look that makes his eyes flash, added rouge to define his cheekbones, and penciled his lips dark red. The makeup feels heavy after a long day of traveling, but Jensen insists on perfection and there are still two more saloons to visit after dinner. Jensen won’t be introducing himself to those pillows anytime soon.

He’s not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, but… “Where will you sleep?”

“There’s no curfew in this town,” she says with relish, “and it’s been ages since we’ve been anywhere with a decent gambling hall. I figure I’ll take in a bit of the nightlife, wait for opportunities to come about.”

Meaning she’s got a lead on a high-stakes poker game tonight. If lady luck is with them, sunrise will find Danneel with a full purse and Jensen with a full—

“Stop grinnin’ like that!” Danneel smacks the back of his head. “You’ll ruin my hard work.”

When she’s through with Jensen, Danneel nudges him away from the vanity in order to touch up her own appearance. Standing behind her to take advantage of the clean mirror, Jensen adjusts his corset and straightens out the black lace over his shoulders. The combination of teal and black does wonders for his complexion, tight fit shaping his body into an hourglass. Like the boots he’s wearing, Jensen’s legs are supple and soft, shaved smooth with a razor the day before.

He knows he made an impression on Jared earlier, hoping now that it was enough to draw the gunslinger into the competition tomorrow. If not, Jensen decides to sweeten the pot in case the gunslinger patronizes one of the other saloons tonight. Jensen slips a silk sash around his waist and ties it in the back. Danneel has told him that the large bow ‘makes his derriere look delicious.’ Finally, he fastens a beaded choker around his throat, one black strand swinging down between his collarbones. 

Danneel glances up from her reflection. “Oh, Jen. Your gunslinger doesn’t stand a chance.”

“That’s the idea,” he says with a grin, fluffing his honey waves. There are times he wishes he could grow his hair long enough not to need the heavy wig, but when the heat hits, he’s grateful to be able to take it off, or dress in simple pants and leave his chest bare. He _adores_ playing the beauty, but he’s still a man.

A man with _needs_ , he silently amends. He hasn’t been able to stop thinking about Jared’s lean lines, the height and breadth of his body, and the strength in his hands. Those thoughts bring on a mighty shiver. If Jensen’s excited at the mere idea of a sweaty rendezvous, the real thing might break him. And he doesn’t mind the idea, so long as it’s Jared doing the taming.

~~~

Belly full after a satisfying meal, Jensen’s wearing a smile as he strolls into the next saloon. Word of their arrival in town must’ve spread like a brushfire; this saloon is more crowded than the first. A cheer goes up when Danneel and Jensen pass through the batwing doors, many pairs of boots shuffling on the wood floor until a path appears before them leading straight to the bar.

Jensen tries to rein in his disappointment when he doesn’t see Jared standing at the bar; he was hoping for a chance to know the gunslinger better.

Morgan riles up the throng when he arrives a moment later. Misha and the riders have retired for the night to make camp, but Robbie will be out on the street showcasing his roping abilities, probably suckering drunken cowboys into a wager or two. The cockiness, the fanfare, the demonstrations—it’s all good for business.

Jensen and Danneel split up as soon as J.D. begins talking to a pair clean-shaven men in pressed suits. Their wealth is obvious: silver chain disappearing into a coat pocket, polished shoes, a flash of brilliance as a bejeweled cufflink catches the light. Men like that, spending time in an establishment like this, are easily swayed into placing significant wagers on the competitions.

This time, Jensen circles the poker tables while Danneel remains at the bar and accepts a shot of whiskey—the finest bottle this saloon can provide, of course—from one of her new devotees. Jensen doesn’t need to read the words off her lips to know that she’s talking each and every one of them into either ponying up the fee to pit themselves against one of Morgan’s men or betting on the action. Jensen watches a few hands at the table, paying attention to styles of play and facial expressions. He doesn’t have the sharp mind for cards like Danneel, but he enjoys trying to predict who will bluff and who will fold.

The third saloon in town is more subdued, no clanging piano music filling the gaps between conversations. Jensen blinks through the acrid cigar smoke, grateful he thought to bring one of his fans to sweep the thicker air away from his face.

There are no grand speeches given here—these men wouldn’t appreciate Morgan interrupting their card game. A more subtle approach is required. Morgan buys two bottles of decent whiskey and hands them to Jensen and Danneel. They ingratiate themselves with the players, offering liquor when a glass runs dry, and it’s not long before Morgan is invited to join a game.

Unlike the other two saloons, there are several women here tonight working the men around the tables. Draped over their shoulders or seated on their laps, giggling like schoolgirls. Jensen only needed to spend a moment in this saloon to know that this is where the moneyed men take their entertainment. Poor cowboys can’t afford a night with these women.

If Jensen was interested in trapping himself a rich man, he could do no better than here. But he catches himself comparing his options to Jared and finding them wanting. Not tall enough; fingers like sausages; eyes that lack the same heat. He flirts and flatters, but none of the men in this saloon can take his mind off Jared.

The whores are enamored of Jensen once they realize he has no intention of interfering with their business. They ask him questions about the powders he uses on his skin and the best way to keep their lip color fresh during a _demanding_ engagement. Men send over glasses of expensive liqueurs, and soon their conversation devolves into tittering retellings of memorable nights.

Eventually Jensen needs fresh air. He excuses himself from the table where Danneel is sharing—in graphic detail—her techniques for pleasing a man with her mouth, and steps outside. The commotion has died down leaving the street empty of all but a few silent folks out for a stroll.

Jensen fills his chest with a deep inhale, relaxing his shoulders as he breathes out. He can picture the bed waiting for him back at the hotel and hopes that J.D. won’t ask him to stay much longer. He’s already decided to postpone his bath until morning, fearing that if he bathes tonight, he’s likely to fall asleep in the warm water and drown.

Movement at the edge of Jensen’s vision catches him off guard. He watches carefully as a figure separates itself from the shadows across the street. Jensen recognizes the building as a boarding house—their coach drove right past it on the way into town.

As his eyes adjust to the darkness, Jensen can make out a long body, one knee crooked against the lamppost. He knows beyond a doubt that the shadow belongs to Slim. The gunslinger’s been stalking Jensen’s thoughts throughout the evening, and the more Jensen thinks about him, the more conflicted he feels. Men like Jared have reputations. Nine times out of ten, it’s not a sterling one. No doubt Slim’s ivory-handled Colt has sent a few men to the grave, but instead of being fearful, Jensen is flattered. All he needs to do is remember the gentleness in Jared’s eyes, the way he welcomed Jensen’s touch…

“You disappeared on me.”

Jensen turns at J.D.’s voice. “We’re set for tomorrow. I didn’t think I’d be missed.”

“I always miss you, Jen.” The comment brings a familiar smile to his boss’s genial face. They stand side by side for a moment enjoying the respite. Inside, the merriment continues amongst laughter and the celebratory _clink_ of glasses.

“You’ve been distant since dinner,” J.D. muses, stepping back to lean his wider frame against the wooden support. “It’s not like you to be this distracted. Something wrong?”

Jensen feels the weight of Jared’s stare from across the street and does his best not to steal a glance. 

“The day has finally caught up with me. I’ll be glad to get back to the hotel and sleep.”

“Sleep, hmm?” Morgan considers his excuse. “I thought you might have something wicked planned for tonight.”

Jensen smirks. “Then you have no idea what kinds of things I plan to do in my bed.”

Morgan laughs, but Jensen knows him better than that. His boss won’t let go of his concerns that easily. He’ll have to tread carefully. He’s never hesitated to share his intentions with his longtime friend, but there’s something enchanting about the connection forming between Jensen and his contradictive gunslinger. For now, he wants to keep Jared to himself.

Fortunately luck in on Jensen’s side tonight.

“Feel safe enough to head back on your own? Cain’s already left for camp, but Ty’s still inside—he’ll escort you back to the hotel if you want.”

Jensen declines his offer. “Danni?”

“I’ll stay here and walk her back after she’s bled a few of these fellas dry,” J.D. says. “See you at breakfast.”

Jensen’s come across his fair share of rude men. More than once, a disgruntled—and usually intoxicated—patron has attempted to follow him in the dark or corner him in an empty alley. Tonight, however, he walks to the hotel without apprehension, mindful of his silent guardian moving with him but sticking to the shadows.

As he walks, he wonders if Jared will reveal himself but when Jensen arrives at the hotel only a moment later, he’s fairly relieved that Jared hasn’t approached; he’s enjoying their interplay too much. But he does turn and blow a kiss into the darkness before he steps into the Royale, hoping he won’t be the only one treated to sweet dreams tonight.

~~~

“You look far too rested,” Danneel says as she drops into the chair next to Jensen’s. “Does that mean you didn’t have your way with the cowboy last night?” She pouts and steals a piece of bacon off Jensen’s plate.

At Morgan’s request, the hotel staff sectioned off the far corner of the dining room with tall folding screens granting them a small amount of privacy. Jensen awoke early to bathe—the perfumed water worked wonders on his constitution, the warmth as relaxing as he’d hoped—and came downstairs in time to share a cup of coffee with Morgan before the boss was out the door to meet with Misha.

“I decided last night would be better spent resting.”

“So you’ll be even more insatiable tonight?” Danneel grins. “Good plan.”

Like Jensen, Danneel is dressed as casually as they’re able to be while still preserving the illusion. Danneel’s curls are pinned at the back of her head and Jensen put his wig on before leaving his room. The last thing he wanted to do after bathing was dress up in his full costume again, but with the number of folks already milling around the lobby and the boardwalk outside, there were few options. He’d chosen a soft, cotton dress; its green fabric matched his eyes. Tying his waves back with a ribbon the color of fresh grass, he’d gone downstairs with minimal makeup.

“Were you out late?”

“J.D. walked me back around midnight,” she says as a sweet-looking girl in a blue gingham dress appears with her breakfast. “I would’ve stayed longer, the action was there—“

Jensen nabs a piece of her still-sizzling bacon before she can pick up a fork. Serves her right.

She recovers quickly and fixes Jensen with a lively stare. “This means you’ve had an entire night to come up with ways to debauch your cowboy.”

“Not everyone spends their nights thinking about sex, Danni.”

She shrugs. “Folks might be happier if they did.”

Privately, Jensen agrees, but he hasn’t always felt that way. After leaving Coates’ Town, Jensen abstained from bedding anyone. He’d seen too much in the whores’ tents to view sex as enjoyable, merely a service that could be bought. 

It was Danneel who eventually taught him the joys that could be found in sex. Not personally, mind you, but she showed Jensen that the physical act was nothing to be feared. She was there when Jensen lost his virginity to a young man working in the same brothel. Many of the details of that night have faded from his memory, but Jensen remembers the man’s clear blue eyes and crooked smile, the way he’d prepared Jensen thoroughly, all the while laying sweet kisses on his chest to ease the discomfort. And Jensen recalls his encouraging manner when he rolled over and allowed Jensen to return the favor—with Danneel’s guiding words, of course.

Since then Jensen has enjoyed his partners more often than not, despite the limited time he spends with each one. There’s nothing to fear from sex itself—not the way he prefers it—but Jensen has begun to dread the lonely aftermath.

With J.D. leading their troupe, Jensen and Danneel are in control of who they choose to sleep with. Sex is a perk, but not a requirement. The two of them bring in enough money without it.

“Have you seen him this morning?” Danneel asks.

“Jared? He’s not staying in the hotel.”

“Does he live here?”

Remembering the figure in the shadow of the boarding house, Jensen shakes his head.

“But he’s competing today, right?”

“I hope so,” Jensen says. Honestly he’s been trying not to think about it. Nerves have a nasty habit of souring his stomach. “We only spoke once! Maybe I’ve imagined the connection between us. I mean, what could he want with a man like me? A man who’s _barely_ a man?”

“Stop,” Danneel says, covering Jensen’s shaking hand. “You’re irresistible, sugar. Hell, if you wanted me, I’d never let you go.”

“If you wanted someone as dull as me”—Jensen’s smile returns—“I’d happily be yours.”

“You have nothing to worry about,” she tells him, returning to her food. Jensen’s tempted to swipe another piece of bacon, but his appetite has deserted him. “I saw the way Jared was looking at you in the saloon. That man would happily bend you over the nearest hitching rail and—”

“ _Danni_!” he hisses. “Not here.”

Although now that she’s said the words, Jensen’s picturing the scene. Rough hands turning gentle, hot sun on their backs. Sweat pooling on the back of his neck and a cool tongue relieving the heat.

Jensen cuts those thoughts short before he’s forced to deal with a hard cock in the middle of the dining room, crossing his legs to discourage any blood flowing in the wrong direction.

No sense letting any of that go to waste before tonight.

Danneel convinces Jensen to take a stroll with her after breakfast. Arm-in-arm, they could easily blend in with the regular townsfolk—no feathers, lace, or rhinestones—if not for the low murmurs that trail them along the street. They turn heads, incite whispers, generate excitement.

“Oh, in here!” Danneel spins him into the quaint little emporium just beyond the hardware store.

“Planning to spend your own money for once?” Jensen teases.

She winks. “You never know.”

Jensen circles one of the cases admiring the emporium’s collection of ornate knives and scissors. He and Danneel are the only customers in the shop, alone but for the girl at the counter. She has a wide, sunny smile and laughing eyes, red hair that even Danneel might envy, and skinny shoulders. Instead of a dress, her clothing reminds Jensen of something a young woman might wear if she worked on a farm, but her shirt and pants are pressed and clean.

“You’re part of the show, aren’t you?” she asks cheerfully.

Danneel looks up from the bracelet she’s been examining—a thick silver band with a bright blue stone set in the middle. It’s too big for her, an elegant man’s trinket, but Jensen’s eyes are drawn to the bracelet when she sets it down.

“I was watching when you rode through town yesterday,” the girl admits. “Most excitement we’ve had around here for a long time.”

“That tends to happen,” Danneel tells her. “What’s your name?”

“Charlotte, but my folks call me Charlie. This is their store.”

Danneel sashays up to the counter. “Pretty name. I’m Danneel, and that’s Jenny.”

Jensen huffs. “Danni…”

She waves off his protest, her brown eyes warming to the girl. Jensen’s all too familiar with that look. 

“If this is your family’s store, I bet you know just about everyone in town.”

“Lived here all my life,” Charlie offers openly. “Ten years ago there were only a few farms and a couple of cattle ranches to the North. Now there’s a railroad coming, wagon trains rolling through and picking up supplies, trading old heirlooms for money to buy crop seeds and guns.”

“Do you know anything about the tall, handsome gunslinger that’s staying here?” Danneel presses. Jensen almost tells her to let it go, but Charlie’s eyes go wide.

“My pop said he’s _dangerous_ ,” Charlie drops her voice as if someone might overhear, “but he’s come in a few times. Seemed like a nice fella to me. Mr. James, the man at the hardware store?” Charlie leans forward. “He said the man was a bounty hunter.”

“Do you know where he’s from?”

“Kansas, at least I think that’s what Pop told me.” Charlie’s voice gets louder as her excitement returns. “Said he was responsible for shooting a whole bunch of men there, but I don’t know if I believe that. Rumors, you know? Never know what’s really true, do you?”

Apparently nothing, not even talk of killing, dampens Charlie’s disposition. If anything, the chance to gossip has made her even more lively.

But Danneel’s smile has faded. She looks at Jensen, but he steps away, desperate to avoid whatever she’s going to say. They’ve come across a few bounty hunters since coming West. Most aren’t what Jensen would call _decent folk_ —posters say ‘Dead or Alive’ but it’s easier when a bounty isn’t breathing to fight the whole way back—but a few go about their business without upsetting the people around them. Jensen barely knows Jared, but he’d put money on the gunslinger belonging to the latter group.

His eyes fall on the bracelet again. Jensen leans down to study the craftsmanship, the shine of the polished silver, and wonders where it came from; who sold it; where they were heading. The vivid blue of the turquoise is like something out of Jensen’s dreams.

“I remember the man who brought us that bracelet,” Charlie says once she notices Jensen’s interest. Danneel has moved on to the jars of sweets on the counter. She cares about her figure, but not enough to pass up candy when it’s right under her nose. “It was a few years ago. He told my mother that he’d had to sell just about everything he owned to make it out here, but he didn’t care.”

The question comes out before Jensen is aware of his need to ask. “Why not?”

Charlie’s smile turns fond. “Love,” she whispers as if afraid someone might overhear. “He said he made a mistake by letting the man he loved come West without him.”

Danneel says something to Charlie, but Jensen is struck by the story, a rush of overwhelming _hope_ rising in his chest. He’s never felt its like before, but it’s wonderful. Jensen’s life is too fluid to allow for much sentimentality, and he’s never minded until now, leaving that space in his heart open. He imagines the strength of the devotion that traveler possessed, to follow his love into the unknown no matter what he gave up.

Charlie doesn’t know the rest of the story—the man passed through town without much fuss—but Jensen refuses to think that he might not have made it to his love. He thinks about it as Danneel pays for a small palmful of candy, smiles as they make their way back to the hotel to prepare for the competition.

Jensen puts Charlie’s gossip out of his head; he’s not willing to risk his connection with Jared over a few rumors told by a shopgirl. He intends to have Jared, so long as the other man feels the same way. And maybe, after tonight, his heart won’t be so empty anymore.

~~~

Jensen knows nothing about Jared’s abilities with a revolver beyond that it looks mighty appealing holstered at his hip. He envies Jared’s gunbelt, studded leather buckled temptingly around his waist, and he’s overcome by a sudden fluster watching Jared’s fingers dance over the ivory handle of his Colt.

He was pleased to stroll out of the hotel a few minutes ago to find Jared inspecting his gun while he stood in a line with all the hopefuls who’d shelled out one dollar for a chance at small-time glory. The other men (and a handful of women) standing around Jared are varied in their appearance. Amateur shooters whose gunbelts fit awkwardly around their waists; a woman polishing the barrel of a shiny two-shot Derringer; a wet-behind-the-ears kid wearing a waistcoat and fancy shoes, spinning the chamber of his Colt impatiently while he waits. Jensen won’t need to watch the competition to know that the chamber on the kid’s gun is likely to fall out before he gets a shot off if he keeps fiddling with it.

Jensen tosses Jared a wink to show his favor before joining Danneel, twirling a parasol over his shoulder as he steps out into the midday sun. It won’t do to let his skin freckle or burn on what could be an important day.

He’d appreciated the way the green cotton flattered his complexion that morning, so he chose to wear his newest dress to attend the shooting exhibitions. Danneel selected the fabric for the corset: a forest green satin stitched over with gold blossoms and pale green foliage. Fine black lace sewn at the bottom and top to accentuate his hips and bustline. The boning on this corset is not as restrictive as his others; comfort is essential when he expects to be on his feet for much of the afternoon. His skirts are of a matching green satin gathered with black bows, lace peeking out between the ruffles.

Altogether, Jensen feels softer, more sensual than the night before.

Danneel leans over to whisper in his ear. “Jared can’t stop looking at you. I told you that shade would work wonders!”

Without his duster, Jared’s full build is on display, and Jensen’s mouth suddenly goes dry seeing the width of his shoulders barely contained in a dark blue shirt—such strength apparent in every part of his body. Jared’s features are shadowed beneath the brim of his hat, but Jensen knows he’s watching.

Though Jensen’s supposed to be mingling with the crowd to encourage betting, he’s staked out the best view from which to watch the competition. Seems as if the entire town has turned out for today’s events, including whole families carrying blankets and picnic baskets. Good numbers mean good business for the local merchants; they might remember the favor when J.D. and Misha go to restock supplies before the troupe heads out of town.

There’s a smirk on Danneel’s face when Jensen claps demurely as Jared’s turn comes in the first challenge. Rather than set up a simple shooting gallery in the open space between buildings, Morgan has assembled a number of trick-shooting events during their travels, each one meant to test the best guns in the West. He’s gained renown for his ideas; men have traveled to meet Morgan’s company in order to compete.

The first event is hardly a challenge for Jared, though a number of participants have already failed. The gunslinger shoots an apple off the ‘head’ of a carved wooden man with a single shot. Morgan’s best gun needs three bullets. Applause echoes between the false-fronts lining this end of the main street. Jared turns to the crowd gathered behind the shooting line and acknowledges them with a curt wave.

Morgan steps up between Jensen and Danneel. “This one gonna be a problem?”

Standing beside Danneel, Stephen nods. Without any riding events today, Stephen and his cousin are on hand to make sure the afternoon runs smoothly. 

“Could be,” Stephen says, crossing his arms over his chest. “You want me to fix it?” Meaning he’ll track Sheppard down and enter him in the competition. As ruthless as Sheppard is with money, he’s deadlier with a revolver.

Before Morgan can answer, Jensen snags his elbow and draws him into the shadow of the hotel. The plumage in his hair whips around his forehead, and he brushes it away with an angry hand.

“I won’t have you rigging this one,” Jensen hisses.

“That man’s gonna cost us money!” Morgan argues, because if there’s one thing he hates, it’s letting good coin slip through his fingers.

Jensen doesn’t hesitate. “I’ll reimburse the pot.” 

“So that’s what has you so distracted,” Morgan muses. “He means that much to you, huh?”

Jensen scowls, knowing it does his appearance no favors but trying not to care. “Do I need to have a reason?” He rarely asks for favors, but Morgan owes him more than one. 

Reluctantly, Morgan concedes (placated, no doubt, by the promise of a profit no matter what), sending Stephen away to help set up the next challenge. Jensen returns to Danneel’s side, wrist fluttering as he tries to cool himself with his peacock-feathered fan, but it’s not enough to counter the effect Jared has on him. He’s never backed a shooter before—never cared one way or another—but he can’t stomach the idea of Jared losing due to Morgan’s interference.

Turns out, he has nothing to be nervous about.

Jared obliterates a line of whiskey bottles by using a small hand-mirror to shoot over his shoulder. Jensen’s never seen anyone hit all six bottles with one round of bullets. The townsfolk are whooping and cheering, louder each time a bottle shatters. Jared’s precision is astounding, and quite arousing; he’s confident in his skill, a man whose reputation is apparently carved into tombstones throughout the territory. Not for the first time, Jensen wonders what happened in Jared’s life to bring out those abilities.

Men in want of a reputation are cocky and extravagant. Men who’ve earned them rarely boast. It’s no question to which category Jared belongs.

For the final challenge, Jared’s bullet demolishes the tip of a corn-cob pipe at twenty-five paces. By then, the competition is down to only Jared and a former soldier turned ranch foreman, but Jared’s the only one able to shoot the pipe’s tip clean off. The breath rushes out of Jensen’s lungs; he requires a moment behind his fan to compose himself before he’s able to cheer along with the rest of the crowd after the final shot.

The next few minutes are chaotic. Morgan is the first one to reach Jared’s side—no doubt he’s aiming to _hire_ the gunslinger after that performance—and folks are clamoring for his attention, all looking to hear the tale of how he learned to shoot. They’re eager for a story they can set among their dime-store yarns of lone gunslingers and Wild West heroics.

Jensen’s eyes meet Jared’s for a brief moment (being tall has its advantages). There are butterflies tickling his stomach. From a hidden pocket in his skirts, he pulls out a piece of paper rolled neatly and fastened with a black ribbon. As Jared sweeps by, caught up in the surge of the crowd as they carry him towards the saloon, dozens of voices shouting for the honor of being the first to buy him a drink, Jensen slips the note into the gunslinger’s large hand.

He hopes it’s enough.

~~~

The knock comes at Jensen’s door just as he is removing the feathers from his wig, smoothing the fawn-colored strands and approving his reflection in the mirror. In Jensen’s experience, the kinds of men willing to share his bed prefer the full illusion—luxurious wig, curve-creating dress, stained lips and flushed cheeks. Those riders, ropers, and carousers aren’t looking to get frisky with another _man_. The more feminine Jensen appears, the better he’s treated. Not that Jensen minds, but he’s grown weary of partners who only desire what’s on the surface.

Maybe tonight will be different.

Jensen opens the door and smiles. “I see you read my note,” he says, beckoning Jared into the lavish hotel room. “Have you taken supper or should I send for a hot meal?”

“I ate, thank you.” Jared needs to remove his hat to make it through the door. This hotel certainly wasn’t built with men like him in mind; it’s too refined, concerned with extravagant details that don’t matter to the wild n’ wooly type. Jensen figures Jared would be more comfortable on the trail with nothing more than a bedroll beneath him and a fire at his back. It’s hard to say what’s more bothersome: that Jared doesn’t suit the hotel room, or that all this finery doesn’t fit the gunslinger one bit.

“You missed the celebration,” Jared says, hanging his hat. He’s presumptuous enough to remove his duster and gunbelt as well. Not that Jensen minds. “Had a whole saloon full of people lining up to buy me a drink.”

Jensen sashays to the credenza where he’d placed a bottle of his own good whiskey and two glasses (crystal, the hotel attendant assured him). Given the show he put on this afternoon, Jared was probably the most sought after man in town.

“I’m sorry for stealing you away. You’re welcome to go back and—”

Jared only needs two great strides to erase the distance between them. “Not a chance,” he says. “Truth is I couldn’t wait to leave. Your note…”

Words fail the gunslinger. Jensen doesn’t get the chance to encourage him before Jared whips him up with all the force of a dust storm, laying his rough lips on Jensen’s painted ones. Resisting isn’t an option. Even if Jensen were unsure, the scrape of Jared’s sun-chapped lips against his own would sway him into compliance.

Jared holds Jensen’s cheek in his right palm, skin thick with calluses from years of gunplay. His left hand follows the boning in Jensen’s corset all the way down to his hip, shaping his body through the expensive fabric. Their mouths are perfectly matched, an even give and take of eager tongues and gentle teeth. Jensen lays his fingers hesitantly over Jared’s shoulders to draw him closer, ready to feel the gunslinger’s strength from head to toe. Some men don’t like Jensen to touch them, more interested in getting their dick wet than encouraging intimacy, but not Jared. He steps into Jensen’s embrace, rough pants catching on Jensen’s silks.

The kiss begins to lose some of its vigor now that permission has been asked for and received. Jared’s lips skim across Jensen’s one more time before he tilts his head to the side, eyeing the whiskey.

“Is that for me?”

“I thought you might be thirsty.”

Jared licks his lips. Over the years, Jensen’s learned how to put on a show, but seduction comes naturally to Jared. That one simple motion has Jensen’s knees knocking together like a colt’s.

“I am now.”

Jensen turns and pours them each a glass, smiling when he feels Jared’s fingers twist around a ruffle of his skirt. Like he’s making sure Jensen isn’t planning to run off.

“Cheers to your _impressive_ victory,” Jensen says, handing off one of the tumblers. Jared takes it carefully as if his hardened touch might shatter the crystal. He’s slow to drink, but once he tastes what Jensen’s offering, he closes his eyes and savors.

“Sure beats the rot-gut they’re serving across the street.” When he opens his eyes, Jensen sees they’re the same color as the pricey spirit in his glass, and just as intoxicating. “Company’s better, too.”

Gazes roam freely as they sip their whiskey. Now’s not the time to act coy; if Jared is aware of how desperately Jensen desires him, fine. The look Jared’s fixing him with in return is hardly innocent. Rather, his gaze is thorough and heavy. Men tend to come at Jensen with rough hands and foul breath whether he’s ready or not, but Jared waits, takes another sip and waits some more. Finishes his drink without much hurry, turning Jensen’s stomach upside down from the nerves, because all he can do is watch. It’s a heady thing, the way Jared is staring, straight into his eyes, appraising, not looking any lower at Jensen’s cushioned bosom or cinched waist.

Jensen must have him. This instant if possible.

“I’m still waiting on that prize,” Jared says, the warm molasses tone causing Jensen to swoon right into his arms.

“Don’t worry, cowboy. I’m good for it.”

“Ain’t no cowboy,” Jared growls, one arm seizing Jensen around his waist. Only through luck does Jensen manage to set his glass down before Jared spins him away. Jared flings his own over his shoulder; Jensen hears it hit the bed and roll off with a _thunk_ , but he’s too ruffled to care whether or not the crystal survived the drop.

Jared’s fingers weave through his wig and lock around the back of his head. A wonderful sensation, but Jensen wishes he could feel that desperate tug and pull against his scalp without the wig in between.

Jensen’s spirit rises (along with another part of his anatomy) like bubbles in the champagne J.D. buys each Christmas. Jared awakens passions within him that he’s never experienced before, and he’s no longer able to wait.

“Get comfortable,” Jensen says, nudging Jared towards the pair of upholstered chairs near the empty fireplace. With the heat they’re giving off, there’s no need for flames tonight.

Once Jared sits, Jensen wastes no time pulling off those hard-knockin’ boots of his and setting them beside the chair. Without Jared’s gunbelt in the way, it’s easier for Jensen’s fingers to swoop in and begin unbuttoning the front of Jared’s trousers, picking up hints of his shape underneath.

“I can’t wait to see all of you,” Jensen admits under his breath. Some men ask him to talk while they’re together, stimulated by filthy words and exaggerated descriptions of their manhood. With Jared, the words tumble out on their own, straight from his conscience to his lips. “I wanted you from the moment I walked into the saloon and saw these long legs of yours.” He works his palms over Jared’s thighs, fingertips digging into the hard muscle formed by years on horseback. So much _power_ —Jensen wonders if he’s ready for it.

“You were teasing me from the get-go.”

“Just making sure you were interested.”

Jared pins Jensen’s hands with his own. “You know I was.”

And he still is from what Jensen sees distorting the flat button-front of his trousers. “Let me go, and we both get our prize,” Jensen says, fluttering his lashes.

Last night when he was alone, Jensen treated himself to a fantasy in which he’d fallen to his knees before Jared just like he is now, only Jared wasn’t trying to slow things down. The way things went in Jensen’s mind, Jared couldn’t stop himself from taking what Jensen was offering. In Jensen’s experience, few men can.

“Jared?” There’s more concern in Jensen’s voice. He’s sure he didn’t misread Jared’s interest, but some men just can’t _do the deed_ when the time comes.

But Jared lifts his hands before Jensen is able to lean away and give him space. He’s grinning, but there’s a new light in Jared’s eyes that’s not coming from the oil lamps on the dresser or the candle Jensen set on the nightstand. Jensen’s never seen its like before tonight.

“Don’t let me stop you, Jen.”

Jensen could sit and ponder the strange look, but he’s distracted by the swelling flesh between Jared’s legs. Opening the front of Jared’s trousers—trying his best not to let his fingers tremble too much—Jensen receives his first surprise of the night.

No undergarments.

“Went to the bathhouse after the saloon,” Jared explains, eyes turned away. Given the sudden flush on his cheeks, he’s _embarrassed_. “Figured since I was clean and all, I shouldn’t put dirty clothes back on.”

Jensen’s pleased, because that’s one less layer keeping him from his reward. Even unbuttoned, Jared’s trousers barely contain him. With eager fingers, Jensen pushes the flaps aside, freeing Jared’s cock.

He’s seen men of all shapes and sizes, and while Jensen’s fond of his own cock, he’s always found them quite ridiculous-looking when he’s with another man. But it’s a different feeling altogether with Jared. His cock is gorgeous, sculpted like those marble statues he’s seen in J.D.’s illustrated books on art and history. It’s as perfect as an artist’s rendering: raised veins creating smooth valleys along which Jensen could run his fingers if he wants to pleasure Jared with his hands. A tapered tip the color of a desert rose that looks absolutely delicious if Jensen decides to use his lips and tongue instead.

Jensen wants _everything_.

He manages to work Jared’s boots off followed quickly by clean socks, and he’s scrabbling to pull Jared’s trousers down when he feels the touch on his shoulder. At first he thinks Jared is encouraging him, but the grip is solid, unmoving. Jensen glances up, meeting Jared’s soft yet serious stare.

“Something wrong?” Jensen asks, heart in his throat. If he’s somehow been found wanting…

Jared sighs, leans forward. His trousers are stripped halfway down his legs, cock out and angled temptingly over his bare thigh, yet Jensen can look nowhere but straight into his eyes.

“Just isn’t how I pictured this going,” Jared says, setting Jensen’s panic ablaze.

Has he been too forward? Perhaps Jared _does_ want the full illusion after all—a lover who’s demure and reserved, one who allows Jared to take the reins. Jensen can do all of that if Jared lets him start over.

“Tell me what you want,” he pleads, but Jared shushes him.

“Speak up if I’m doing this wrong,” Jared says, reaching out. Jensen is confused until Jared slips his hand behind Jensen’s head searching for the base of the wig with careful fingers.

Jensen is stunned and unable to move as Jared removes his prized wig, only coming out of his stupor when he feels warm air across the back of his neck, the weight of the false tresses gone completely. Trembling, he takes the wig from Jared’s hands, eyes stinging with the pressure of unshed tears.

“I don’t understand,” Jensen whispers. “You’ll be able to see who—what I really am.”

Jared stands and helps Jensen to his feet. It would all look rather silly if Jensen could focus on anything else: him in his corset and skirts, but without his wig, and Jared with his trousers around his ankles.

“ _This_ is the man I want,” Jared stresses, cupping Jensen’s face in one of his massive hands. The conviction in his voice is more terrifying than a firing squad. He drags his thumb over Jensen’s lips where most of the color has been kissed away. “I may not deserve it…”

Jensen finds his voice. “Jared—”

“But make no mistake,” he continues tenderly, “I ain’t immune to all this. You caught my eye faster than a hawk after a rabbit, but I just want you tonight.”

“Me?”

“You, Jen.” He hesitates. “Wait, is Jen your real name, or—”

“It’s Jensen, and I really am from Texas in case you were wondering,” Jensen babbles.

“Right…the Texas Rose.” Jared grins. “Good, ‘cause there’s nothing better than meeting a true Texas boy.”

“I can think of one thing that’s better,” Jensen teases, feeling his confidence return as well. He tips forward and finds Jared’s lips intending to deliver a kiss that the gunslinger won’t soon forget, but he can’t ignore the hard length pressed between their bodies.

“Reckon I can lose the rest of these clothes?” Jared asks, unashamed by the evidence of his attraction.

“ _Please_ ,” Jensen responds, releasing the last of his anxiety with a long exhale.

He sets the wig on one of the chairs and turns back to see that Jared’s already stepped out of his trousers, shirt unbuttoned and hanging off his shoulders. Jensen all but leaps into his arms sending them wheeling backwards onto the bed.

Lying beside one another, Jared traces Jensen’s shape through the corset. “This is pretty,” he says, “but I want to see you.”

He’ll get no argument from Jensen. Propped up on one elbow, Jared patiently takes in the show as Jensen undoes each button down the front. The gunslinger offers to help, but Jensen knows those hands would be more of a hindrance. Besides, letting Jared watch only serves to fan Jensen’s desire; it’s no secret he enjoys the attention.

Jared’s eyes appear darker, sharper, with each new stretch of pale skin that’s revealed. Intense, the way a starving man looks at a meal. He does hold Jensen’s skirts to make slipping out of them easier, sweeping his fingers up the inside of a creamy thigh once they’re off.

Finally Jensen’s left in nothing but his knickers and black stockings, ribbon woven through the tops and tied with delicate bows behind his knees.

“Like what you see, cowboy?” Jensen taunts. In his brief experience, it’s the fastest way to goad Jared into action.

He isn’t disappointed; Jared reacts quicker than a shot fired from his revolver. With a coarse sound that rushes down Jensen’s spine, Jared yanks him onto the bed, both of them kneeling. Everything seems new to Jensen—he feels vibrant, his body light. A freedom he’s never experienced before. No man has treated Jensen the way Jared has, and though he’s nervous, he _loves_ the sensation. Under Jared’s hands, Jensen doesn’t feel weak or delicate; there’s a force between them that empowers, enriches, and inspires.

Still entwined, Jared lowers Jensen onto his back, their kiss becoming more heated as emotions rise to the surface. They’re well matched, tongues sliding back and forth. Jensen’s lips are more forceful—he knows what he wants from Jared’s mouth—while Jared provides warmth and depth. He could drink from Jared’s lips all night long, learn the true measure of the man using nothing more than his senses, but he’s aware that the night is not endless. 

Jensen pushes the shirt off Jared’s shoulders leaving him naked—a magnificent sight. Jared’s hair, thoroughly mussed from Jensen’s hands, falls short of his nape exposing shoulders that have been shaped by years of living on the trail and providing for himself. His torso looks like it’s been whittled out of strong wood with swells and valleys running all the way down to his cock. But his chosen profession has taken its toll. Scattered across his chest are the raised souvenirs from more than one gun battle. The fact that Jared’s standing before him means that his aim was truer than that of his adversaries. Means Jared is _better_ ; he’s a survivor. 

Jensen wants to _worship_ Jared’s triumphs. Wants to hear about every man that’s ever called him out, every showdown at high noon. But those thoughts are too heavy for a night like this. Instead, Jensen combs his fingers through the fine hair on Jared’s chest, follows the soft trail around his navel, and smiles when Jared squirms under the feather-touch.

That’s the second surprise; Jared is ticklish.

Jensen’s cock is straining the limits of his knickers, crown peeking out above the satin. Jared appears fascinated by the sight.

“Never found a man _beautiful_ before,” Jared confesses, “but you’re something else, Jensen.”

Heat surges from deep within Jensen’s chest. It may not be poetry, but Jared’s words are taking him apart. He nearly faints when Jared touches his cock through the silken fabric, fingers outlining the head. With iron in his gaze, Jared slips the undergarment down Jensen’s hips and off, taking a deep breath when he lays eyes on Jensen’s uncovered cock for the first time.

“Can I?”

Jensen’s brow drops. “What?”

Jared’s mouth is drawn into a shape Jensen’s not familiar with. His stare never wavers, but Jensen watches various emotions flash behind his eyes.

“Jared, what do you want?”

“Can I use my mouth on you?”

“Oh _stars_ ,” Jensen gasps, throwing his head back onto the quilt. He has to stare at the ceiling for a few seconds, because if he looks at Jared right now, his tenuous hold will snap, and he’s not willing to embarrass himself this soon. “You don’t have to ask.”

“You may not like it.”

“I will, Jared—I promise.” Jensen’s tongue feels loose; he has trouble getting the words out. “But only if you want to.”

“I do,” Jared says, “but I’ve never done this.”

 _One. Two. Three._ Jensen measures his breaths. Jared is trying to _kill_ him with his stubborn brand of inexperience.

“Then I’m a lucky man.” Those words have Jared smiling again. “I won’t let you take too much,” he promises breathlessly. “I want you to enjoy it as much as I do—that’s the point.”

Jared begins by playfully stroking Jensen’s legs, skirting around the dainty bows at the back of his stockings.

As his arousal spikes, Jared loses more of his reserve. “I don’t mind if you keep these on,” he says, hand traipsing further up Jensen’s thigh. 

Jensen’s legs fall open as Jared gets closer, skin tingling as if he’s been running through a lightning storm. He’s gotten used to quick n’ dirty romps, and he’ll admit that those were easier. With casual lovers, Jensen could hold something back; he wasn’t vulnerable the way he is now. But those men didn’t deserve his secrets, his true cravings.

“Put your mouth on me, Jared,” Jensen pleads, raising his lower back off the bed. “I need you.”

Jared leans down without another moment’s thought, those whiskey-stained lips laying an open kiss on the shaft. More blood rushes into his cock—Jensen’s full length revealed. Jared watches it fill, his breath hitting Jensen’s flushed skin, before trying again, this time leading his tongue to the crown.

“Taste me,” he says, and Jared obliges, sealing his mouth over the tip and sampling the flavor.

“Something I could get used to,” Jared mutters, directing his gaze up Jensen’s body. “But I ain’t done yet.”

Luck is truly favoring Jensen tonight, because he would’ve wept if Jared wanted to stop there. But Jared continues to explore, the tip of his nose dragging over the hairless skin around Jensen’s cock, using every one of his senses to discover what Jensen enjoys.

“Never seen a man shaved smooth like this.”

“Like it?” Jensen asks.

A low moan is the only answer he gets as Jared licks a wide path over his hipbone, swirling his tongue back around the base of his cock. Shaving can be a hassle, but Jensen appreciates the effects of always feeling clean, smooth, and fresh. Thankfully he’s not a hairy man to begin with, or the effort might not be worth the time it consumes. Jared is certainly enjoying the results, leaving the skin around Jensen’s cock shiny and cool.

Finally Jared envelops the head in his mouth, heat shooting straight up Jensen’s spine. Testing the waters, Jensen slips one hand into Jared’s thick hair, keeping the pressure light. To his surprise, Jared leans into the touch, accepting Jensen’s guidance. Jared can’t take him very deep, but it hardly matters. The warmth and wetness surrounding him, combined with the soft, curious flicks of Jared’s tongue are enough to keep his passion burning.

Jensen does nothing but encourage him; it’s a rare pleasure to be able to lie back and luxuriate in pure carnality. Whenever J.D. gets after Jensen like this, he’s usually sloppy from having too much to drink, but Jared is dedicated, intense. When he slips his mouth lower, Jensen keens into the pillow lest he wake the entire hotel with his screams.

Jared pops off, his mouth wide and red. “Guess I’m doin’ something right.”

“More than _something_ ,” Jensen mutters, fanning himself with his hand. “Want me to…”

“Nah, I ain’t giving up my prize yet.”

Jensen can only take so much before his belly starts quaking with the effort of holding back. The hammer’s cocked; he’s ready to shoot. Jared’s tongue glides around the width of his shaft, lips pulling and tightening as he sucks Jensen as deep as he can. Jensen’s hands are no longer guiding. Fingertips digging into Jared’s scalp, he’s simply hanging on for the ride.

But it’s too good, and Jensen has no intention of letting things end here.

“Jared, wait—” His hand slips down to Jared’s jaw, leading him up and away from his cock. “There’s a jar on the dresser. Can you grab it?”

Jared drops his forehead onto Jensen’s stomach and pants, sweaty strands of hair brushing Jensen’s overly sensitive skin. When his breathing is even, he looks up. “You sure?”

“Trust me.”

Jared’s warmth is only absent for a moment before he returns with the unlabeled jar, his stunning cock bobbing proudly in front of him. Evidently satisfying Jensen with his mouth hasn’t caused his desire to wane one bit. Jared holds the jar out for Jensen, but he shakes his head.

“That’s for you.”

“What is it?”

Jensen draws his knees up creating a canyon wide enough for Jared’s shoulders. His cock is a lurid shade of red, desperate for more of Jared’s attention.

“I think you can figure it out.”

Jensen has hooked himself a mighty bright gunslinger, because Jared needs _no_ time to puzzle it out. His mouth is searing when he kisses Jensen, wild and ravenous. As wonderful as his lips felt around Jensen’s cock, he’s surprised to discover he already misses the simple pleasure kissing Jared brings.

“I’m guessing you’re familiar with this part,” Jensen says as he watches Jared open the mixture in his hand. The ointment has been a godsend for Jensen, a thin, colorless jelly perfumed with roses that Danneel was familiar with from the brothel in Baton Rouge. She insisted that the boys in the house swore by it, and when Jensen used it for the first time, he vowed to never travel without a jar. Fortunately J.D. has the means to supply it for him.

“Or I could do it myself,” Jensen offers, suddenly unsure, “and let you watch.”

Jared nips at Jensen’s plush lower lip before shifting lower. “Not a chance, Texas Rose,” he says, sharing a grin with Jensen. His stage name doesn’t sound half-bad coming from Jared’s mouth. 

Jared tests the slickness of the mixture on two of his fingers, rubbing them together to warm the small dollop before spreading the ointment around Jensen’s rim. 

“You don’t have to take your time.”

“I don’t mind,” Jared tells him, pressing with a single finger until Jensen’s body opens for him. It’s been a few weeks since Jensen’s allowed anyone to take him, but Jared eases the brief flare of discomfort by swooping down over his cock once more.

Jensen’s mind goes white. This is something he’s never experienced before: one man pleasuring him in two ways. Fingers teasing his ass while his mouth keeps the fire burning in his gut. Jensen doesn’t know what to do with his hands; he can only clutch frenziedly at the quilt beneath, writhing under Jared’s attention.

“More,” he begs, eager to feel Jared’s cock inside him. He hasn’t gotten to enjoy it _at all_. “Jared…”

Thinking Jared’s going to tease him further, he’s startled when Jared begins stretching him with two fingers, pushing more of the friction-warmed ointment past his rim. Jensen tenses, tempers his brief muscle seizure with a deep breath.

“Gonna need to take more than that, Jensen.”

“Don’t worry,” Jensen sighs, “I’m just getting used to it.”

“Been a while?”

Jensen frowns. “Maybe.”

For some reason, that makes Jared smile. But Jensen has no time to ponder—Jared is ferocious now, scooping another finger-full of Jensen’s mixture and working it into Jensen’s body while, at the same time, running his mouth down the length of Jensen’s shaft and dipping low to lay open kisses on his balls.

Aroused beyond his wildest imaginings, it’s nothing for Jensen to take three of Jared’s fingers. Jared lifts his mouth off Jensen’s cock so that he can watch as his fingers glide in and out—Jensen can only imagine the sight he’s being treated to, but it feels miraculous.

Jared reaches for the jar again, but Jensen musters the strength to swipe it first. “My turn,” he says. His limbs feel like willow branches, but he hauls himself up onto his knees as Jared does the same. Nothing’s going to stop him from getting his hands around Jared’s cock. “I’ve waited long enough.”

If he possessed the patience, Jensen would worship every inch of Jared’s body, but that would take all night. Just holding his cock is enough (plenty of inches there, too). He covers the length with ointment until Jared’s thrusting easily through Jensen’s fist. The bell end is flushed and dark like the skin of an unripe plum, velvety under Jensen’s fingers. 

Jared kisses along the length of Jensen’s perfumed throat, teeth flirting across his collarbone but never biting down. All the while, his fingers frolic around Jensen’s loose rim and slip inside. Not about to be outdone, Jensen strokes faster, adding a twist of his wrist to wring a moan from Jared’s throat.

“You’re pretty good at this.”

Jensen’s hand falters, but he doesn’t think Jared notices. He’s heard those words before—cruel reminders of the life he lives—but Jared speaks them without callousness. Reverence tempers his words; he means to praise and flatter. Jensen tilts his head and lays a kiss on Jared’s temple, a silent thank you the gunslinger will never know of.

“Gotta have you,” Jared pants against his shoulder. “I can’t wait anymore.”

Jensen couldn’t agree more. He notices Jared’s brow furrowing as he folds down onto his hands, knees pulled under his hips.

“It’ll be easier for both of us this time,” he says, winking. “We can get creative later.”

Instead of pressing straight in the way Jensen expects, Jared trails his fingers up the back of Jensen’s thighs, spreads his full palm over Jensen’s hindquarters. Kneads in, presses down. Admiring. 

“You can look all you want when you’re fucking me,” Jensen tells him, an edge to his voice, “but I need you right now.”

Penetration is an act Jensen both loves and hates. He looks forward to it each time he takes a new lover to his bed, anticipation quickening his blood, but he’s suffered a long line of disappointments. Men who didn’t prepare him enough and men who didn’t bother at all.

Not Jared.

Jensen knows Jared won’t treat him the way men have in the past, but he’s unprepared for the windstorm of sensation that hits him when Jared starts pushing his cock inside. There’s a moment when Jensen feels nothing at all—his mind refusing to process _anything_ until it knows what it’s supposed to be feeling—and then it hits him at once. Spine on fire, thighs quaking as he tries not to collapse, stomach full of lead. He’s overwhelmed, and only Jared’s hand reaching around to settle on his chest reminds him to breathe.

One deep breath changes everything. Fire turns to warmth; the tingle moves up from his thighs and into his cock, which surges with renewed interest. His shoulders drop, head hanging between his arms, as the wave crests over him.

“Don’t think anything’s ever felt this good,” Jared is saying, words garbled in Jensen’s ears. But he smiles. 

Seated as deep as he can be within Jensen’s body, Jared hasn’t moved yet. Jensen raises one shaky hand and places it over Jared’s on his chest.

“Anytime, cowboy. I’m good.”

“I’d tell you not to call me that,” Jared mutters, “but seein’ as I’m about to ride you…”

They both laugh at the same time.

“Stop talking and start fucking me,” Jensen says, spurring Jared into action by rocking himself back onto Jared, making sure he’s taken every inch of that cock.

Jared groans and brings both hands back to Jensen’s flank. He’s so large that his palms span from the far curve of Jensen’s rear to his lower back, guiding his thrusts as he slaps forward.

Head down, Jensen gazes back along his torso to watch the muscles in Jared’s thighs thicken and release, his furred legs contrasting with Jensen’s milky, shaved skin. Jensen’s cock sways and stirs the air; his balls feel heavier each time Jared drives into his body.

He clutches the quilt searching for leverage to push back, but finds no purchase. Jared’s rhythm forces them further and further up the bed until Jensen has to grasp the headboard to avoid cracking his head against the wood. The solid oak creaks in protest. Knees braced wide apart, Jensen tries to hold this new position, but the angle is uncomfortable and his stockings, damp with his own sweat, slip on the bedding. He nearly ends up belly-down with his face in a feather pillow, if not for Jared holding him up with arms of iron.

Jared hauls them upright, his chest heaving against Jensen’s back. Jensen’s hole feels cool and exposed without Jared’s cock to fill it.

“My turn to ride,” Jensen says. They’re too busy catching their breath to laugh, although Jared’s wearing a full grin as Jensen guides him to lie with his back against the carved headboard.

“Never tried it like this.”

“You’re learning all kinds of things tonight, aren’t you?”

Jared kisses the sass straight off Jensen’s lips. Jensen straddles his thighs and sinks into his embrace, their mouths refusing to stray all the while. He reaches behind and grasps Jared’s cock, giving it a few strokes before slipping the head against his rim and sinking down.

Wide open and slick, Jensen throws his head back and truly _rides_. His thighs burn with the exertion, but his blood is racing so fast, he barely feels the sting. Most men in Jared’s position would lie there and let Jensen do all the work, but his lover never stops moving. He bucks under Jensen like a galloping stallion, throwing his hips up at the same time Jensen drops down, forcing himself as deep as he can go. 

Jensen relishes the control he has in this position, but he also adores the way Jared won’t stop touching him. Mouthing at his chest, that clever tongue leaving a cool trail between his nipples. Combing the thinned wax out of Jensen’s hair with his hands. Dragging his thumbs across Jensen’s collarbones hard enough to leave bruises.

He’s never been handled this way; he’s pulling Jared in through his skin. There’s an abundance of friction where Jensen’s cock is trapped between their bellies, and he dances with his hips to excite the hardness within him.

But that’s too much for Jared to take. With a mighty roar, he throws Jensen onto his back and fucks him deep, deeper, _seeing stars_. Jensen laughs merrily, far beyond bliss, until the sounds are stolen from his lungs. Jared’s cock hits what few men have ever managed to find and the pinpoints of light begin to spin and flash. Jensen cries out, beyond words now, as Jared flings one of Jensen’s legs over his shoulder as if it weighs no more than a feather.

Primal instinct overcomes both of them. Jared loses control of his hips and Jensen lets himself go loose in order to withstand the pounding. Thanks to Jared directing his thrusts, Jensen’s cock remains rigid, and he pulls one hand from the bedding to stroke himself as Jared begins to break.

The entire night has gone beyond Jensen’s wildest imaginings, and his body has responded in kind. His pleasure is so close to the surface, fierce and raw, that it doesn’t take many pulls until he’s coming. The strength of his orgasm shocks him, leaves him breathless and dazed as Jared tosses his head back and groans. Though he’s spent himself already, Jensen writhes around Jared’s pulsing cock, stealing every last second of gratification before Jared collapses on his side next to Jensen.

Too scrambled to find the words, Jensen sighs into the sex-thick air. Jared doesn’t smother him with body heat, but he turns his head and kisses the top of Jensen’s shoulder—a small, tender gesture that has Jensen blushing all over again.

When he can finally turn his head, Jensen notices that his candles have melted down, one already out. The only light in the room comes from the lamp on the dresser, and even its flame has waned. But Jensen doesn’t care. He’s only interested in the man at his side—the man who looks as exhausted as Jensen feels.

“Falling asleep on me?”

“There a rule against that?” Jared asks with a lazy smile. His eyelids hang low over those glassy, hazel irises.

“I wouldn’t blame you,” Jensen says, “this bed is mighty comfortable.”

“So are you,” Jared mutters against his arm, whining when Jensen pulls away and tries to sit up. It takes more than one attempt.

Jensen performs his nightly ablutions with a giddy smile on his face, splashing his cheeks with cool water from the pitcher. He doesn’t realize he’s left his stockings on until he’s sitting on the bed. Jared climbs on from the opposite side, the sweat washed from his temples and throat. He leans affectionately into the curve between Jensen’s neck and shoulder, arms winding around his waist.

“Will I get a goodbye kiss?” Jensen asks, staring at the door.

Jared pulls him around with a gentle hand on his elbow. “Are you asking me to leave?”

“No, I—I like the company.”

“Then you don’t mind if I doze off for a bit?”

“Only if you don’t mind me waking you up for another go…” Jensen trails off, earning a laugh. He’s about to move away, give Jared space to stretch out and sleep, when Jared takes his hand.

And that is the final surprise: Jared pulling Jensen down onto the pillows and holding him close as he begins to nod off, that big body providing all the comfort and safety Jensen never realized he desired.

~~~

Jensen wakes up to the sound of heavy–heeled boots stomping past his room. The first thing he’s aware of besides the single shaft of morning light escaping through a gap in the brocaded curtains and hitting him right in the eye is the fact that he’s alone in the hotel room.

His entire body goes numb, fear robbing him of the warmth he felt when he fell asleep. It’s impossible to rein in the disappointment—but no, it’s more than that. What Jensen’s feeling can only be called sadness. For a short time, he believed things could be different, that Jared would be here when Jensen woke up. His heart is too jaded to break completely, but Jensen’s chest feels dry and brittle like a leaf beginning to wither after summer’s flourish.

Throwing aside the quilt, Jensen stumbles out of bed and tugs the curtains closed, clutching the heavy fabric to his chest as he struggles to breathe in, breathe out. Weak in the knees, his grip on the curtains is the only thing that keeps him from wilting to the floor.

Another pair of boots—without the _clang-spin-clang_ of metal spurs—makes its way along the hall. Jensen doesn’t notice the steps have stopped until the door to his room creaks open quietly, as if the man on the other side is trying to sneak in with the utmost care.

“Jensen?”

Jared’s voice—Jensen can hardly believe it until he lifts his chin and sees his gunslinger hurrying to set the tray he’s carrying down on the dresser.

“What’re you doing?” Jared asks, crossing quickly and leaning down to look Jensen in the eyes. “I thought you’d still be asleep,” he says softly.

“I—” Feeling utterly foolish, Jensen is unable to admit the truth. “The, um, curtains—they were letting in too much light.”

Jared’s expression is gentle when he touches Jensen’s shoulder, stroking down his arm as if he’s soothing a spooked horse. “I’ll fix them. Why don’t you go back to bed?”

“Why?”

“’Cause if you insist on parading around the room in nothing but your skin, our breakfast is gonna go cold.”

That’s the moment Jensen realizes he’s buck naked, continuing to clutch the curtains to his bare chest. He lets go and falls back into Jared’s arms, as strong and comforting now as they were the night before. Unlike him, Jared is dressed again, the same trousers and shirt he’d worn when he showed up at Jensen’s door.

“You brought breakfast?”

“I was gonna have them send up some coffee, maybe a couple of biscuits. But your friend—the woman with the auburn hair?”

“That’s Danneel,” Jensen tells him, beginning to frown. He steps away from Jared’s hold and moves to his trunks, pulling a roll of black silk out of the largest one. “What did she do?”

“I…she—” 

It’s Jared’s turn to stutter as he watches Jensen slip into the short robe and belt it around his waist. The robe was a present from Danneel to celebrate his last birthday; Jensen has never worn it in front of a lover, but he understands Jared’s sudden inability to speak. The slick, black fabric stops just below his privates, and though Jared’s seen everything Jensen has to offer, he clearly finds the sight arousing.

“Jared?”

He clears his throat. “Right, um…Danneel. She asked if I was there to get breakfast for you. She didn’t even wait ‘til I said yes before she was ordering more, telling me she’d add it to her tab.”

“She definitely knows what I like.” Now that Jensen can smell the food, he’s starving. Danneel sent Jared back with two plates of eggs, split and buttered biscuits, and a pair of sausages sliced down the middle. Behind the plates are two china mugs and a matching pot filled with steaming coffee.

Jensen pours coffee while Jared retrieves the tray and sets it on the bed. They each tuck in with gusto. Jensen is used to eating breakfast like this when he stays at a hotel, but he wonders what Jared would have done if he hadn’t spent the night. Maybe he would have filled his belly with strong coffee and ridden out of town before the sun made it over the horizon, or taken a simple breakfast at the boarding house.

Jensen has met plenty of men who call themselves wanderers, those who drift from town to town, savoring the open spaces in between. Can’t put four walls up around them—they always feel the urge to leave like an itch under their skin. In Jensen’s experience, men like that are running from something. Could be the law, could be their past—whatever the reason, pain’s almost always at the center of it.

Watching Jared enjoy a full meal, Jensen wonders what kind of ghosts are chasing his gunslinger.

The eggs are the first thing to disappear from Jared’s plate. He looks at Jensen through his eyelashes. 

“Don’t have fresh eggs that often.”

Without a word, Jensen takes Jared’s plate and scoops the remainder of his own eggs onto it. “I was finished with them anyway,” he says, handing the plate back. Jared opens his mouth, but says nothing. Instead, he spears the second half of his sausage and offers it to Jensen.

“Don’t mind if I do.” Jensen eats it straight off the fork and licks his lips. After the intimacies they shared last night, Jensen finds it adorable that he can still coax a blush onto his gunslinger’s cheeks.

“I could spend all day in bed,” Jensen says once they’ve devoured their breakfasts. He lies back and stretches, the hem of his robe slipping indecently up his thighs.

“Are you allowed to?” Jared asks, gaze draw to luminous skin.

Reclining against the pillow, Jensen curves his lower body towards Jared, welcoming the touch of a sure hand on his knee.

“The events begin at noon—roping and riding. Danni will be looking for me soon.”

“How soon?”

“We’ve still got some time,” Jensen assures, “unless you’re thinking about running off on me.”

“I’m only paid up at the boarding house ‘til today.” 

Jared flirts with the bottom of Jensen’s robe, silk slipping through his fingers. Jensen ought to be getting ready—his red and black corset already set out on one of the chairs—but he can’t pry himself away from Jared’s caress.

“Stay here tonight,” he says. “We don’t leave until the morning.”

Considering the offer, Jared raises himself over Jensen’s body. Jensen notices that the top buttons on Jared’s shirt are undone baring a triangle of inviting skin.

“Pillows are better over here,” Jared says conversationally, as if he’s not aligning their hips and baiting Jensen with his lips. “Coffee’s decent, too.”

“You’re welcome to the coffee”—Jensen nips at Jared’s chin—“and the pillows”—sucks the fold of his bottom lip—“and anything else this hotel can provide during your stay.”

“Sounds like I’d be crazy to refuse.”

Kissing Jared this morning feels just as good as it did last night, perhaps even better now that they’ve shared so much of themselves. Jensen _knows_ this mouth, knows its strengths and weaknesses. The way it bends to his without submitting; the way it takes from his without demanding.

Though kissing is a pleasure Jensen could happily lose the rest of his morning to, he intends to put his mouth to a different use. Jared gladly strips out of his trousers when Jensen starts tugging at the button front. He tears off his shirt, too, as if the garment somehow offended him. The prelude to their morning play, though brief, has already begun to show in Jared’s cock, and Jensen takes the thickening flesh in his mouth to finish the job.

Jensen’s done this many times, but he’s never felt so carefree during the act. Jared happily lies on his back, propped up on his elbows for a better view, as Jensen demonstrates his skills. He’s not interested in teasing Jared—although that sounds appealing, too—so he sucks his cock deep into the back of his mouth, much farther than Jared managed to take him.

Experience has its advantages.

“ _Damn_ , Jensen,” Jared moans, “you’re putting me to shame.” His hips arch involuntarily, forcing his cock even deeper, but Jensen’s ready for the surge. He swallows and breathes through his nose, delighting in every sound Jared makes. “Knew you had a pretty mouth—wanted it from the get-go—but I had no idea you could make a man feel _this good_.”

Jensen would smile if he could, but the flesh stretching his lips makes that rather difficult. He gets his hands on Jared’s hips to hold him down, and Jared makes no fuss about being restrained. As erotic as it is to have Jared plain _using_ his mouth, Jensen wants the control even more.

His fingers dig into the muscle beneath his palms, even more aroused at the strength he can feel. His thumb finds a smooth circle of raised skin on the outside of Jared’s left thigh: another scar where a gunman’s bullet has marked him. The reminder of another fight Jared survived.

“Jensen, _Jen_ …” Jared’s been reduced to breathy repetitions of Jensen’s name, chest rising and falling. Smug, Jensen savors each long pull, tongue searching out sensitive spots beneath the crown and teasing until Jared can’t manage any words at all. Jensen will remember the shape and heft of Jared’s cock for the rest of his life, the taste of his seed as the thin fluid leaks onto his tongue.

Desperation wreaks havoc on Jensen’s desires; men like Jared don’t cross his path too often. Fearing he’s never going to feel this kind of passion again, Jensen takes more than he ever has, writing himself into Jared’s history. At least that’s what it feels like he’s trying to do, all but choking himself on Jared’s cock.

“Whoa, whoa…” Jared runs a soothing hand down the side of Jensen’s face, under his jaw. “Easy, Jensen. You tryin’ to kill me?” he asks, tone light.

Mouth gaping and sore, Jensen stares up the length of Jared’s body and meets caring eyes, the shifting colors within them reminding Jensen of a fresh spring stream.

“Just trying to liven up your morning.” Jensen’s voice is shot to hell.

“Job well done,” Jared says, moving his hands to Jensen’s chest and pulling him up the bed.

“The job’s not _finished_ ,” Jensen corrects just before Jared lifts his head and kisses him.

“Damn near was, but there’s something else I wanna try.”

 _Something else_ turns out to be Jared’s hand wrapped around both their cocks, stroking them with purpose. Kissing Jensen all the while, treating his tired mouth to a soft dance of tongues. Crouched low on his knees, Jensen fucks forward into Jared’s grip, his cock gliding against Jared’s. His silk robe has worked itself open, black ties pooling on Jared’s belly.

Jared comes first—no surprise given the way Jensen thoroughly worked him over—but the sight of his lover shuddering beneath him, pink lips wide around a silent cry, tousled hair spread across the pillow, brings Jensen to completion.

Jensen’s stomach rumbles as he rolls off to the side, Jared’s arm ready to catch and hold him close.

“Guess you’ve already worked off breakfast,” Jared laughs. “I’m sure I can get you another plate if—”

The knock on the door startles them.

“Are you boys decent in there?”

It’s Danneel, her sing-song tone leaving no doubt that she knows exactly what Jared and Jensen have been up to. Knowing her, she’s been eavesdropping from the hall.

Jensen reties his robe—he has nothing Danneel hasn’t seen before—but Jared redresses in haste, still buttoning his pants when Danneel finally grows impatient and opens the door with a key she quickly slips back into her pocket. She stands beside the door in an ivory and blue dress with a smirk barely hiding in the corner of her lips.

“Didn’t mean to interrupt,” she says, which is obviously a lie, “but J.D.’s been looking for you.”

“Tell him I’ll be ready—”

Danneel holds her hand up. “Not you, sugar. Your _very_ satisfied-looking gunslinger.”

Jared looks between them. “Me?”

“Did he tell you why?” Jensen asks, stepping forward.

She shakes her head, auburn waves brushed soft and shining. “He’ll be at the livery before the competition, Jared.”

“He probably just wants to give you your money in person,” Jensen says, suddenly remembering that Jared won himself a hefty purse yesterday. So much has happened since then…

“I’d better get going then,” Jared tells them, collecting the rest of his belongings from where they’re spread around the room: his hat and duster from the chair, gunbelt from the dresser, boots from beside the door. “Money from the last bounty I brought in has just about dried up.”

Jensen wants to stop him—he’s not sure what happens now, or where he’ll see Jared next. Jared must read the questions off his face, because he steps up next to him and tilts his chin for one more kiss. Danneel averts her eyes.

“I’ll find you during the races.”

Jensen smiles. “I’ll be waiting.”

Danneel rolls her eyes once the door closes behind Jared. “Y’all are so sweet, I might lose my breakfast.”

~~~

The crowds are livelier this afternoon than they were yesterday. Jensen is swept up in the commotion as soon as he steps outside. He didn’t think this town could hold many more people, but he sees wagons sitting in the open spaces just outside town, and someone’s added more hitching posts outside the livery.

For the final day of festivities, Jensen chose to wear his most luxurious corset. Made from the finest materials, it was a gift from J.D. on Jensen’s birthday. Buttery black velvet swirled over a red silk damask bodice, small onyx buttons running down the front. No frills or bows along the top, just simple black silk brushing over Jensen’s chest. His skirts are black, the hem just short of decent. Paired with his softest boots and smoothest stockings, Jensen feels beautiful and confident. Sweeping his hair over one shoulder, Jensen turns heads when he promenades through the gathered crowds, swaying his hips and smiling all the while.

Good sex does _wonders_ for his disposition.

Eventually Jensen finds his way to where Sheppard and his men are collecting entry fees, catching coins flipped by young men and women aiming to hear their names in the day’s retelling.

“We’ve missed you at camp, love,” Sheppard greets him dryly, “but rumor has it you landed yourself quite a suitor. So which is it? Deep pockets or a deep di—”

“None of your business.” Jensen misses Misha and Ty, and the ease of being around his traveling family, but he doesn’t miss the loose tongues and barbed humor they all share. “Where’s Morgan?”

Sheppard flashes him a crooked smile, ignoring the line of hopefuls waiting to sign up. “Not in the mood for conversation? Pity. I was _so_ looking forward to hearing about the creature comforts in your hotel. Tell me, how did the bed hold up while you were _entertaining_ last night?”

He’s too familiar with Sheppard’s goading to take the bait. “Jealous it wasn’t you?”

“Couldn’t afford you even if I was, lovely.”

They’ve repeated the same lines, traded the same insults for months. Jensen actually enjoys the charade and Sheppard’s unapologetically ornery manner. Pleasant can be so dull at times.

“I haven’t seen Morgan since he told me he was going to the livery to see about selling two of Misha’s mares,” Sheppard tells him, leaning towards Jensen. “Should be back soon—the fun’s about to start.”

“The gunman from yesterday, the winner,” Jensen broaches, “have you paid him yet?”

Sheppard narrows his eyes. “I had the purse ready—nice take for the boy, I must say. One of the largest I’ve ever had the _displeasure_ of paying out. He really got the crowd wagering.” Jensen allows himself a brief surge of pride. “But Morgan said he’d take care of it.”

“What?”

“Said he wanted to speak to the boy. Didn’t give me a reason, and I wasn’t about to ask.”

Jensen’s curiosity morphs into anxiousness. Sheppard always handles the money; J.D.’s too busy to bother with a task like handing out winnings.

What does his boss want with Jared?

The question buzzes around his head like a persistent horsefly for the rest of the afternoon. He uses the exhibition as a distraction, weaving through the crowd—Cain always within his line of sight since Ty is keeping an eye on Sheppard and the cash they’re bringing in—and making sure folks are willing to wager. This is a performance he knows by heart: talking up Stephen and his riders, doling out a few winks and coy smiles partially hidden behind his feathered fan. 

Jensen spots J.D. across the street with Robbie—he’s not hard to find in his dove-colored suit and matching bowler hat—but Jared isn’t with him, and Jensen is too far away to catch his boss’s attention. He’s no closer to figuring out why Morgan summoned Jared himself. The two of them have been rolling together for so many years, Jensen thought he knew all the ways in which J.D. operated. Apparently he was wrong.

Strolling away from the noise and activity of the roping competition, Jensen steps into the shade in front of Bradbury’s General Mercantile, parched and weary and wishing he could retire to his room for a few hours. Peeking through the open door, Jensen looks around for Charlie, but there’s no sign of the charming young woman inside the store. He’s tempted to slip inside for another peek at the turquoise bracelet, but the deeper shade cast by a soft, sweeping willow growing next to the store is calling to him.

“Thirsty?”

Jared’s standing by the corner of the building, hat slung down his back and his hair combed away from his forehead. He’s not wearing his duster, but his gunbelt angles low and heavy around his hips, each slot filled with a shiny new bullet. Most notably he’s holding two glasses of lemonade.

“Is that ice?” he asks, a shiver racing down his spine as he imagines Jared’s undoubtedly cool fingers trailing along the back of his neck. He shakes himself out of it before Jared sees just how undone he is now that he’s in the gunslinger’s presence again.

Jared ducks into the shade as well, handing Jensen a glass. “The hotel just got a block of it,” he explains with a carefree smile. “Cost me an extra penny, but it’s worth it.”

Jensen agrees. He takes off his gloves so the glass won’t slip through his fingers. A shiver courses up his arms when he touches the cool condensation. The first sip is the best thing Jensen’s felt all day with the exception of Jared’s kiss in his hotel room.

“Just sour enough,” Jensen says, puckering his lips. Jared hasn’t moved, eyes fixated on Jensen’s mouth. It’s reassuring to know that he continues to have an effect on Jared even through such an innocent gesture. “Better drink up before it melts.”

“Did your friend hassle you after I left this morning?” Jared asks after enjoying half of his lemonade. Behind him, folks bustle along the street staking out good seats from which to watch the races. But with Jared’s broad shoulders between Jensen and the bystanders, they have at least the illusion of privacy.

“Danneel? She knows better than to rile me up.” Not that she didn’t try, Jensen recalls. “She found one of the crystal tumblers under our bed,” he adds with a smirk, “then she wanted to hear _everything_ about last night.”

Jared looks at Jensen over the rim of his glass.

“Don’t worry, I didn’t tell her.”

“Kinda got the feeling she already knew,” Jared says.

Certainly possible, Jensen thinks, drinking more of the sweetly sour treat Jared bought. A small favor, but it does more to warm Jensen’s heart than any of the lavish gifts and tokens he’s ever received. Jared, unlike most men, possesses a wealth of sincerity that makes him richer than many.

“What did Morgan want to see you about?” Jensen poses the question with care, schooling the interest out of his voice.

Jared slides his fingers up and down the glass collecting fat drops of water, hesitation slipping into his expression for only a heartbeat before it disappears. “Wanted to give me my winnings just like you said.”

“That’s all?”

“He congratulated me, wanted to know where I learned to shoot.” Jared’s smile wanes. “Told him nothing was better than practical experience.” His attitude brightens quickly. “The purse is more money than I’ve ever had. As you can see, I couldn’t help spending a bit already.” Jared indicates his gunbelt, pulling Jensen’s attention to his hips. The sight brings with it the vivid memory of what’s between Jared’s legs.

Now Jensen wishes he could retire early for an entirely different reason. He clears his throat, but it’s obvious from Jared’s smirk that he knows where Jensen’s thoughts were headed. 

“I thought bounty hunting was a lucrative profession.”

“It is,” Jared says, “if you’re willing to go after the big pay-days.”

“And you don’t?”

“Never intended on this being a _profession_ ,” Jared tells him. “I’ll bring a bounty in if he crosses my path, or help a Marshall track down an outlaw if he’s willing to split the money.”

“Have you ever thought about settling in one place?” Jensen asks.

Jared’s quick to shoot back. “Have you?”

There’s no answer for Jensen to give. The lemonade is a sweet distraction. Jared’s still grinning, and after a few moments, Jensen relaxes back into their easy companionship. 

“I’ve got to get back for the races,” Jensen says after savoring the last bit of his icy drink. “You planning on watching?”

“Thought about it,” Jared tells him. “Your boss gonna mind if I stick around?”

Jensen’s cheeks feel warm, and not because of the heat of the day. Jared offers to take their glasses back to the hotel, assuring Jensen that he’ll meet him near the finish line where J.D. and Sheppard will be overseeing the action. Jensen catches sight of Danneel holding court with her admirers outside one of the saloons, ivory satin ribbons woven through her hair and draped over her shoulder.

The rest of the afternoon is full of surprises.

As usual, the races provide entertainment for everyone. A handful of Morgan’s riders dressed in elaborate, multicolored costumes parade down the street before the competition. Riding among them, Misha tosses sweets to the children he sees while the other riders wave banners and execute stunts from horseback. 

Jared reappears as the applause dies down and Morgan steps out to announce the first race. J.D. nods when he sees Jared, but other than that there’s no interaction between the two men, allaying Jensen’s uncertainties.

Jensen mingles as he’s expected to, but he keeps winding his way back to Jared between races. Their hands touch—casual gestures to the outside observer—fingers caressing a wrist or trailing behind an elbow. A harmless seduction that leaves Jensen’s heart pounding. The connection he has with Jared astounds him; it’s something Jensen never could have imagined for himself. Not even his fantasies brought him a man who could ignite his senses with a simple touch, who already comes so close to soothing the broken places within him. 

And having sex with Jared isn’t an event—it’s been an _awakening_.

The exhibition can’t conclude soon enough.

Stephen has no trouble making it to the final race; the surprise is who he’s riding against. Jensen’s been distracted by his personal concerns until now, but there’s something curious about the slightly built rider who steps up next to Stephen. The challenger’s garments might fool most of the spectators, but Jensen’s been an expert on dressing as the opposite sex for years—he recognizes the disguise with little trouble.

It’s Charlie. Her hair is rolled up and tucked beneath a faded hat, but a few red strands have escaped, curling around her ears. Her slim figure is obscured by loose clothing, but the smile on her face is brilliant. Jensen wants to stand and cheer for the young woman, but he holds his tongue still to keep her secret. Morgan would never bar a woman from competing in his events, but even he never knows how the crowd will react if they succeed.

Jensen does whisper all this to Jared, however.

“The girl from the emporium?” Jared asks, leaning forward to keep their conversation private. “I met her when I first hit town. Kind…and lively,” he recalls, mouth quirked. “Wanted to know my life’s story.”

Jensen turns. “I’m betting she didn’t get it.”

Jared hangs his head. “Not a tale fit for most folks’ ears.”

“I’d listen,” Jensen offers without hesitating. “If you’re ever looking for someone to tell it to.”

Whatever Jared might say is cut off by the boom of Morgan’s voice announcing the race. Jensen catches Charlie’s gaze when she searches the crowd and he gives her an encouraging wave. In all of their travels, he has yet to see someone even come close to beating Stephen, but he’s rooting for her.

They watch the race with new interest; Jared cheers along for Charlie and her black gelding. She wasn’t lying when she bragged about her skills; her gelding has a long, fluid stride, and Charlie is light in the saddle. At the barrel turn, Stephen’s only ahead by a nose. The last stretch is thrilling, the roar and applause deafening as the two riders gallop down the street. 

Charlie’s horse and Stephen’s cross the finish line at the same time. The race is too close to call, even for Morgan who has the final say. Townsfolk surge at the finish line, and from what Jensen’s able to see and hear, the crowd is insisting on a second race. After a rapid conversation with Sheppard, Morgan obliges. 

As folks press forward for a better view, Jared steps closer, his chest flush against Jensen’s shoulder blades. He shields Jensen from the raucous people around them, but from the way his hand flirts with the curve of Jensen’s waist, his fingers fluttering over the ties of Jensen’s corset, the move isn’t completely chivalrous.

On the second go ‘round, Stephen’s mustang wins by half a stride, but the crowd cheers for both riders. Jensen has a feeling he’s not the only person who recognized Charlie in the saddle. Locals tend to rally behind their own when they’re competing against one of Morgan’s finest.

“What now?” Jared asks. Around them, people are beginning to move out of the street, making for one of the saloons to continue the festivities or heading back to their homesteads with their families.

“Things won’t settle for a while yet,” Jensen says. “I should see if Morgan needs my help with anything, but I’ll be back after that. Most of the troupe will be in town tonight relaxing and celebrating.”

“Dinner?”

“Definitely in the cards,” Jensen says. “I haven’t eaten since our breakfast. Why?”

Jared ducks his chin, grinning. “I reserved a table at the hotel. Under your name, ‘cause they couldn’t give two shakes about me.”

“For us?”

“Figured if you were staying in town…”

“What time?” Jensen asks quickly.

Jared’s eyes mirror the afternoon sun, rich golds and faceted greens reflected in his irises. “Five o’clock.”

Nerves aflutter, Jensen nods. After all the excitement, a quiet supper sounds marvelous. As they walk, Jared mentions a few chores of his own that need doing before they meet for the evening meal: seeing to his horse in the livery, gathering his belongings from the boarding house.

“Before Ms. Irene decides to sell ‘em off,” he jokes.

“Do you mind if I wear this?” Jensen asks before they part ways. He’s not ready to change—used to maintaining the illusion until the troupe leaves town—but he would accommodate Jared if he wanted to be seen dining casually with a friend instead of a funny man playing at being a courtesan.

Jared stops walking and encircles Jensen’s waist, nearly sweeping him off his feet right there in the middle of the street. Laughter bubbles out; Jensen can’t help himself. Jared knows exactly what to do to assuage his fears.

“I don’t care what you’re wearing,” Jared whispers, lips skirting over the whorls of Jensen’s ear. “Won’t matter to me, I’ll still be thinking about getting you naked.”

With that he lets Jensen go and strides away, no finer sight in the world than those long, muscular legs filling out every inch of those pants, and for a moment Jensen can’t decide if he wants to chase after him. Hard to say whether it’d be to kiss him or slap him upside the head for provoking him like that. Jared looks back over his shoulder as if he knows exactly what he’s gone and done.

“You’re gonna regret that,” Jensen mutters to himself, spinning towards the hotel where he’ll no doubt find J.D. and Danneel waiting for him, mind already working out how best to repay his lover.

~~~

“I’m guessin’ there’s a story behind that stage name of yours.”

Jensen lifts his gaze from the tablecloth’s fine stitching. Their dinner plates have been removed, not a morsel left on either one.

“The Texas Rose?”

“You mentioned coming from Texas, but I’m thinking there’s more to it than that,” Jared says. Like Jensen, he cleaned himself up a bit before meeting Jensen in the hotel lobby. He must’ve gone to the bathhouse again, because he hadn’t come back to the room where Jensen used cool water to remove the dust and sweat from his face, throat, and shoulders. The blue shirt Jared’s wearing looks new—another purchase with his winnings, no doubt—and his hair’s been combed smooth.

Jensen’s mind wanders back to a time before he hit the road with Morgan and Danneel. To the spicy heat and sticky humidity of nights in New Orleans.

“When I was in New Orleans,” Jensen begins, Jared leaning his elbows on the table, “there was a performer I used to watch who called himself Jasmine.”

“Him?”

Jensen nods. “He was one of the most beautiful people I’d ever seen. When he—Nathan—danced on stage, it was like a dream, and his costumes were flawless. I thought he was a woman at first,” Jensen recalls fondly. “Jasmine was _inspiring_. The women at the broth—”

He stops. This is something he hasn’t told Jared yet. But Jared encourages him to continue with soft words.

“It’s okay, Jensen.”

“I never—it wasn’t like _that_. I just stayed there.”

Jared’s hand covers Jensen’s. “I ain’t judging. Your life is your own.”

“But I want _you_ to know,” Jensen says. “I earned my keep helping the Madam with whatever she needed. Tending bar, setting up the stage…” He needs a deep breath to steady himself. Jared’s eyes remain gentle, understanding. “That’s where I met Danneel. She and the other women found it entertaining to ‘pretty me up’ when they were through working for the night. I didn’t exactly _mind_ , you know?”

Most of the other diners have gone, retiring to their rooms or seeking further entertainment in one of the saloons. Two glasses of wine, compliments of the hotel, sit untouched on the table between them, and the lamps around the room have been dimmed to create an intimate atmosphere. Jensen discovers that, for once, he’s eager to share this part of his past.

“Nathan saw the way I enjoyed the makeup, the costumes, the pageantry,” Jensen recalls, “and when the shows were over for the night, he’d teach me how to move, how to dance, how to dress.”

“That’s where all this”—Jared circles his finger in mid-air—“came from?”

Jensen shakes his head, a fond smile shaping his lips. “I’d known what I wanted for a long time, who _I_ was. Nathan simply helped me do it _well_ ,” Jensen explains. “He came up with the name Texas Rose.” The memory is sweet like the sugared berry tart Jared ordered after dinner. The gunslinger has an undeniable sweet tooth like Danneel; he happily polished off the dessert after Jensen satisfied himself with a few small bites.

“By then I would join him on stage, and I needed a name to give the crowd. Of course Danneel _had_ to mention it to J.D. as soon as he came back to New Orleans, and he thought it was perfect.”

“It’s a good one,” Jared agrees, tone low and warm, “but I prefer Jensen.”

There’s no fan for Jensen to hide behind; his sudden flush is obvious to the man across the table. Jared’s simple words are flattery, but they’re also honest. Jensen’s ego needs the former, but his heart desires the later.

Fortunately Jared rescues him from his discomfort. “You’ve got a good thing going,” he tells Jensen. “You, Morgan, and Danneel, traveling across the West.”

“They’re my family,” Jensen says, an unexpected weight settling on his shoulders, “but that doesn’t mean there’s not something else out there for me.”

He thinks Jared might have something to say, but he remains quiet, finger tapping the bottom of his wine glass as if he’s contemplating emptying the entire thing in one go.

“What about you?” Jensen asks. He’s been waiting for a chance to prod Jared about his plans once the troupe leaves town. “Is there something else out there?”

The question connects, and Jared draws his hands back into his lap. “Not really sure what you’re asking me, Jensen.”

This is delicate, but thanks to his high-heeled boots, Jensen has learned to step carefully.

“You don’t seem to have a great love for bounty hunting.”

“The day I do is the day I give it up,” Jared declares.

“Ever thought about doing something else?”

“Jensen—”

“Ranches hire on gun-hands all the time,” Jensen continues, “or you could always become a lawman.”

Apparently Jared finds that funny; that tempting smirk is back when he says, “The law doesn’t want me.”

Jensen sweeps his hair behind his shoulder and tries to control the level of his voice. “You know what I’m saying, Jared. Don’t you want to live a different life?”

Jared’s expression shifts into something Jensen’s never seen before. Lead in his eyes, cheeks hot like fire-warmed iron. “Yeah, I’d like a different life. One where my big brother and his wife weren’t gunned down by a posse of horse thieves—where I could’ve grown up never coming home to the sight of the only family I had left in the world lying on the ground with bullet holes in their chest.”

Jensen gasps, eyes burning. “Jared—I…”

But Jared doesn’t stop. It’s as if he’s unable to see or hear Jensen, trapped in a tragic memory. “That life was stolen from me. There’s no getting it back. Wouldn’t deserve it even if I could.”

Before Jensen can speak up and try to console him, Jared pushes back from the table and strides out of the dining room. There’s no one left to disturb, and since their bill’s already been settled, Jensen stands and rushes after the gunslinger just in time to see him disappear up the main staircase.

~~~

Jensen knocks softly, but doesn’t wait before opening the door to his hotel room, knowing there’s nowhere else Jared could’ve gone. He has no idea what to expect—for all he knows, Jared could be in a rage, tearing down the curtains or—but the gunslinger is sitting on the bed, arms limp at his sides. He doesn’t look up when Jensen’s heels click across the hardwood.

“I never meant to upset you,” Jensen says, leaving a hand-span between them when he sits on the bed. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

Jared sighs. “I knew what you were gettin’ at. I shouldn’t’ve gotten angry.”

Without saying the word _sorry_ , Jensen knows his apology has been accepted and returned. Jared moves his arm and curls his fingers through Jensen’s, a nearly unnoticeable shudder coursing through his body as he takes a deep breath. Preparing himself for what Jensen has to ask.

“What happened to your brother?”

“I was working in town,” Jared begins. The words sound dry, nearly cracked. This is not a story told often, if ever. “Got an apprenticeship with the town’s livestock doctor so that I could help my brother out. He’d just gotten married and built a new house on the land our parents left us. 

“The sheriff never told anyone about the horse thieves that came through the next town over. Just thought they’d pass through and leave our town alone, but…”

Jensen allows him a moment of quiet; they both need to regain their composure.

Then softer, a pained whisper from an injured man: “I should’ve been there that day. I was already pretty good with a gun back then—I could’ve protected them.”

Knowing better than to placate, Jensen squeezes Jared’s fingers, grateful he removed his gloves before dinner. He loves the texture of Jared’s skin, the calluses on his gun-hand and the softer skin just below his wrist. A contrast, like the man himself.

Jared doesn’t need to suffer through the rest of his retelling, but there’s still one thing Jensen needs to know.

“Those were the men you killed.”

Jared nods. “Found out where they were selling the horses and I snuck in. I could’ve told the Sheriff, watched ‘em hang, but I couldn’t help seeing my brother on the ground.”

“And you’ve killed men since.”

“News of what I’d done caught and spread like a wildfire,” Jared tells him, “and I wasn’t hiding. Some folks called me a hero. I’d earned myself a reputation overnight, and once that happened…”

“Others came,” Jensen finishes, “looking to break it.”

“I wasn’t always the quickest draw, but I always had the better aim. That’s why I’m still here.”

Jared’s skill is unquestionable; Jensen was hoping that his victory (and the purse that came with it) would be enough to lead him away from his dangerous way of life.

“I’m grateful you’re still here,” Jensen says, shifting closer. “But you don’t have to keep doing this. I’m sure there’s something else out there for you. Maybe not a job, but you have your winnings. You could settle somewhere…buy a little peace and quiet.”

Jared’s stare is deep and unreadable, like he’s got a puzzle to solve and no idea where to begin. Jensen begins to feel awkward, cheeks getting warm, when Jared finally sighs. “I meant what I said down there…I don’t deserve the peace you’re talking about. I failed to protect my only family. All I’m good for is bringing in bounties and taking down anyone who calls me out.”

“That’s not true,” Jensen insists, speaking without thinking. “What if you weren’t alone?”

“Jensen—”

“What if I wanted to leave the troupe, stay behind with you?”

Jared’s up and pacing before Jensen can stop him. “No, Jensen, that’s not—you shouldn’t want that. I’m not the kind of man who settles down.”

Jensen sags, his shoulders slumping forward. The boning in his corset begins to hurt his ribs. “I’m not ready to lose you,” he whispers.

As if he’s realized Jensen is no longer at his side, Jared rushes back to the bed, dropping hard onto his knees. Jensen doesn’t want to look up, but he has to. Jared’s gaze is desperate.

“I’m a selfish man,” Jared says, “but I can’t take you away from your family. You belong with them, Jensen—you love them.”

“Jared, I—” 

It’s madness, but Jensen _almost_ says it. For better or worse, Jared halts the confession with a hand on Jensen’s knee.

“I know.” Jensen watches Jared scramble for the right words, praying that whatever Jared says next won’t break his heart. “Can we go back?” Jared asks. “I want one more night with you, and I don’t want either of us to worry about tomorrow. Can we do that, Jensen?”

Within his chest, Jensen feels his heart turn to glass. He steels himself before it can shatter and puncture the hope he’s been nurturing. Jared’s expression is so intensely earnest that Jensen can’t bring himself to refuse. He still has trouble getting the words past his throat though.

“Of course,” he says, aware that his grin wouldn’t fool anyone. “I want that, too.” But right now Jensen can’t stay in this room—their room—any longer. The weight of the emotion would crush him, disappointment heaviest of all. “Why don’t we head down to the saloon?” he suggests, rising to his feet and moving out of Jared’s reach. “I know most of the troupe will be celebrating.”

Jared appears unsettled as well, but he goes along. “I wouldn’t mind finding Charlie and buying that girl a drink.”

To break the tension, Jensen hardens himself even further and steps into Jared’s embrace once more, trying not to consider the way their bodies are so well-suited to one another.

“I promise to show you a good time, cowboy.”

As he hopes, Jared immediately warms to the flirtatious tone. Jensen takes a deep breath; he can do this.

~~~

Jensen struts through the saloon as if he owns it, parting crowds with a single glance. His heels click on the worn floorboards, his bare shoulders golden under the glow of the oil lamps. It’s easy to fall back on his skills, the routine well-rehearsed in many towns before this one.

They’ve made their money—J.D. was right about the take—and the members of the troupe are free to pursue their own diversions. There are times when Jensen prefers to spend his last night at camp, listening to everyone’s stories and sharing in the success, but he finds out that Morgan asked Misha to move the caravan closer to town so that everyone had the chance to revel with the townsfolk.

With nothing left to promote, Jensen is free to dote on whomever he chooses rather than spreading his favor around. And he only has eyes for one man.

Despite what happened after dinner, Jared remains the center of Jensen’s attention. He still desperately wants the gunslinger, and Jared must feel the same way, because hardly a moment passes when he’s not fixated on the movement of Jensen’s lips or the figure he cuts in his red and black corset.

Eventually, with Jensen’s encouragement, Jared joins a poker game at one of the tables in the back of the saloon. It serves as a distraction for both of them. Jared’s just been dealt another hand when Jensen returns to the poker table from the bar. Jared beckons Jensen with a look over the tops of his cards, an empty glass waiting on the table along with his money. Jensen drapes his upper body over Jared’s shoulder, lightly trailing his fingers across the back of Jared’s neck, compelled to touch him even though it burns with the dual flames of pain and passion.

Pouring two fingers from the saloon’s best bottle of whiskey into Jared’s glass, Jensen casts his gaze around the table. Besides Jared, there are three richly appointed men (Jensen recognizes one as the banker and another from the large wagers he placed during the competitions) and a woman with ivory hair, pink cheeks, and a finely tailored dress of olive-colored satin that Jensen envies.

Struck by an idea, Jensen brings the bottle up to his mouth, drawing the attention of everyone at the table. He wraps his plush lips around the rim and swallows. The whiskey warms him from the inside out, but not nearly as much as the intensity of Jared’s stare.

Pleased with his little act, Jensen places the bottle back on the table, but Jared snags him by the wrist before he can lean away. The gunslinger tugs him forward in full view of the other players, tasting the malt on his lips before pressing his tongue inside Jensen’s mouth and sweeping away all traces of whiskey.

“Tastes better this way,” Jared mutters, instantly setting fire to Jensen’s skin. His thumb rests over Jensen’s throat, massaging. The thrill of being touched this way in public only adds to his arousal.

“Then maybe I’ll let you do it again,” Jensen tells him, “but for now, you’ve got some money to win.”

The room darkens as the last rays of sunshine bleed out of the landscape. Sweet smoke rises to circle above the patrons, the scent of clove and tobacco released with every drag from the expensive cigars. Morgan and Danneel are playing in another game at the table behind Jensen, smiling as they outplay the men sitting around their table. This is foreplay for the two of them; Jensen has no doubt they’ll both end up in J.D.’s hotel room come closing time.

Hopefully J.D.’s been getting plenty of rest, because Danneel won’t let him catch a wink tonight. Especially if she keeps winning.

Danneel’s poker style is flashy—she makes each game into a performance. Flirting with the men, giggling when someone pays her a compliment, trailing her fingers along her bustline. Keeping the other players blind to her mastery until she’s already won the hand. Jared’s style is much different. He’s stoic and quiet, expression giving nothing away. Even Jensen has a hard time reading his tells, but he’s benefitting from extra experience.

Jared wins enough to put him up for the evening, but it’s clear he’s losing interest in the game. Jensen plays no small part in his distraction, hovering at Jared’s shoulder and breathing strategy into his ear. He enjoys helping Jared win a little extra, but he wouldn’t mind if Jared threw down his cards right now (he’s holding a pair of threes, but the stately woman clearly has a better hand) and dragged him out of the saloon.

It’s a good thing Jensen knows how to hurry Jared along. If all he has is one more night, then Jensen intends to make the most of it.

“I think you should fold,” Jensen whispers, words meant only for Jared.

“Still got a full glass of whiskey.”

“True, but your cards are worth nothing, and I’ve got an aching need to see that cock of yours again.”

Jared looks up, the game forgotten. Hunger fills his expression, irises plunged into darkness as arousal brings a flush to his cheeks. Jensen smirks.

No one at the table appears surprised when Jared folds, but the woman in the green dress smiles behind her cards as Jared stands and pulls Jensen into his arms.

“Grab the bottle,” Jared tells him, lining his pocket with his winnings.

Jensen obliges, never losing his grip on Jared’s hand as they dance through the crowd, laughing as they stumble through the batwing doors and onto the street. This reprieve allowed Jensen to clear his head, and he’s keen to have Jared behind closed doors again. The hotel’s only a few steps away, but Jensen’s heart is already racing; he wasn’t lying when he said he had an _aching need_ —his body’s been yearning for this all day, forced to survive on small scraps.

He has no idea what tomorrow will bring, but there’s plenty of time between now and sunrise. Jensen doesn’t plan to waste a single breath.

~~~

“Thought this bed was gonna give out on us for a minute,” Jensen pants. He eases himself away from Jared’s chest, turning around and falling back onto the pillows.

“Wouldn’t have stopped me,” Jared says, braced above him and equally breathless. His skin is tacky where Jensen strokes him from elbow to shoulder.

“Good to know.”

Jared nuzzles briefly into the crook of Jensen’s neck before rolling his large body to the side, fresh air soothing fevered skin. Jensen draws a deep breath, the wildfire that had consumed him beginning to recede.

He and Jared barely made it into the room before they began tearing at one another’s clothing. Patience was abandoned as they tore through the room tipping over furniture and crowding against the walls while they kissed their inhibitions away. The only thing treated with care was Jensen’s wig; Jared slipped his fingers through the silky tresses before helping Jensen remove the piece and set it aside.

They sparred for dominance on the bed, neither entirely disappointed if they didn’t get their way. Jensen demonstrated his ability to leave a man hard and _begging_ simply by stimulating Jared’s nipples. Tonguing, biting, sucking—he left Jared’s chest red and marked before the gunslinger flipped their positions and rutted against Jensen’s hip, cock leaking.

Pinning Jensen’s wrists to the quilt with one hand, Jared proceeded to explore on his own for a bit, lips seeking out goldmines of bliss. Jensen was writhing long before Jared swung lower and treated his balls to a slow, sensual soak in Jared’s mouth.

Never in his wildest imaginings did Jensen think that he’d find such an enthusiastic lover. Jared might not possess the experience, but once he set his mind to something, there was no reining him in.

They’d each spent themselves once by the time Jared eased his cock into Jensen. Face to face, Jensen saw every twitch of pleasure in Jared’s expression and he begged for more without saying a word. And Jared responded, driving him to the brink before he got the devil’s gleam in his eye. That’s when he would pull out, leaving Jensen empty and tender. Jensen clawed at his back, short nails furrowing into thick muscle, until Jared arranged them in a new position, each one better than the last.

Bouncing on Jared’s lap while they defiled one of the brocade chairs by the unused fireplace. Legs in the air, displaying his flexibility, as Jared fucked into him from the end of the bed. On their knees, Jared pressed up tight behind him, not a single whisper of space left between them.

By the time Jared allowed him to come, Jensen’s body felt like a wet rag, barely able to hold himself against the headboard while Jared fucked him. His last thrusts were brutal and _perfect_ , his aim as flawless as it had been during the shooting competition. It felt like Jared was breaking him apart and holding him together at the same time. 

When Jared came, it was with his arms around Jensen’s chest, tongue speaking mindless words of affection into his ear. Jensen tried to hang onto those words, commit them to memory in case this never happened again, but he couldn’t catch them in time.

Now that their bodies are spent, Jared and Jensen lie next to one another and listen to their breathing settle into normal rhythms. Thoughts that were held at bay by the onslaught of their combined passion begin to creep back into Jensen’s mind.

“I can hear you thinkin’ from here,” Jared says. “Guess I didn’t wear you out.”

“Trust me, you did.” Jensen tilts his head to the side, watches a slow smile spread across Jared’s face. “Just thinking about doing it again.”

Jared’s chest rumbles with quiet laughter. “Sounds ambitious. No need to wake me up when you’re ready to go at it again. Just hop on,” he says, waving a hand over his slick but soft cock.

“Hop on?” Jensen gasps, feigning outrage. He uses his elbow to dig at Jared’s side, arms dueling on the bedspread. “For that, I’ll take care of myself and I _won’t_ wake you up.”

Jared retaliates, blanketing Jensen with his heavy body. They tussle and roll, no real intent behind their contest; they’ve both extended themselves to the limits of their strength.

Jensen is the first to yawn, rubbing his cheek on Jared’s chest over the very skin he’d sucked earlier.

“I was thinking…”

“Thought we decided against thinking for the rest of the night,” Jensen teases, shifting closer. He means it—the last thing he wants to do is reopen the wounds their earlier clash had caused.

Jared’s hand makes long sweeps up and down Jensen’s back, appreciating the true curve of his body. The imprints from his corset have long faded from his skin. “You enjoy that so much,” he says, “I might need you to return the favor someday.”

Jensen is too relaxed; the meaning of Jared’s words doesn’t hit him for a few minutes. “Take you? That’s not…I don’t—”

“Shame,” Jared says quietly. “Bet you’d be pretty good at it.”

“I’ve done it,” Jensen tells him. “But that’s not usually…” he trails off, unwilling to bring memories of other men into this bed.

“Not interested then?”

“Jared, I—” When he looks up, Jared is still smiling.

“You don’t have to tell me,” Jared says. “Just know that I’m not opposed to the idea so long as it’s you doing the taking.”

Speechless, Jensen lets that sink in. Jared doesn’t appear to be as bothered, relaxing into the peaceful night. The revelrous sounds from the street outside have long since died—the entire town recovering from the excitement and getting back to their ordinary lives.

And somehow Jared expects Jensen to do the same thing.

“You said _someday_.”

“Hmm?”

Jensen leans up on one elbow, staring down. Refusing to get his hopes up, knowing where that path leads. It takes Jared’s tired mind a moment to catch on.

“Figured you’d be heading West,” he says, “so I know where you might be. Our paths might cross again someday.”

Jensen reels. “You’re leaving it to chance?”

“I’ve been lucky so far.”

“Jared—” 

The hurt manifests as a physical _ache_ in Jensen’s chest. Jared can’t raise the possibility of a future that may never come—their separation will be difficult enough without the lonely despair that comes from clinging to hope.

“I don’t want to let you go,” Jared quietly admits, “but I—I can’t settle down just yet, and I don’t want you to have to live my life. You deserve more than that.”

Jensen has no chance to react before his lips are claimed, his mouth possessed by Jared’s sweeping tongue, melting whatever response he could’ve mustered. Jensen feels the kiss in every part of his body: his toes are tingling, his stomach is performing somersaults, and his fingers yearn to hang onto Jared and hold fast. He is _consumed_ ; it’s the kind of kiss that will imprint itself onto Jensen’s soul—the one to which he’ll compare every other kiss. And when it’s over, Jensen feels hollow as if Jared has taken everything meaningful from him and kept it. There’s no one Jensen would rather lose himself to.

Jared’s voice is wrecked. “Do you want me to leave right now?”

Jensen almost says yes, but in spite of the heartache he can’t imagine falling asleep without Jared beside him: his face the last thing Jensen will see. However…

“It might be easier if you’re gone by the time I wake up.”

Jared nods and lies back in silence. Jensen is compelled to stay awake, watching Jared drift off, grateful to have these last, tranquil moments. All of it will end come morning when Jensen has no choice but to move on with J.D., Danneel, and the rest of the troupe. Even if Jared remains in this town for a while, Jensen can’t stay. He possesses no skills beyond the act he’s perfected, no way to provide for himself. There’s nothing else he can use to prove to Jared that he’s worthy of a chance.

Jensen’s subconscious is kind to him when he can no longer keep his eyes open. He doesn’t dream of Jared or loneliness. Instead, his mind carries him to the Pacific Ocean, cool water lapping at his feet and sun shining on his bare shoulders. If he pictures a long shadow next to his on the sand, Jensen assures himself that it’s only a trick his mind is playing.

He holds onto that dream for as long as he can, tries to bring the sensations all the way back to wakefulness, but inevitably it all fades away, lost to the night. 

Though he knows it’s morning by the warm texture of the light on his face, Jensen’s eyes remain closed. Jared is gone; the gunslinger’s too good of a man to ignore Jensen’s final request. But for a few bittersweet moments, Jensen pretends.

~~~

The stagecoach stutters over a deep groove in the earth, their driver calling back so that the other wagons can avoid hitting the furrow. Jensen is thrown out of his stupor as his shoulder knocks into the side of the coach. Danneel glances over, but says nothing. Beside her, Morgan shifts the open ledger on his lap, squinting as he attempts to make sense of Sheppard’s calculations.

The sun has made it fully over the horizon, warm rays sneaking through the wide braches of the oak trees that line the small grove they’re rolling through, spilling soft green light on Jensen’s face. His eyelids are heavy and sluggish—too many concerns and too little sleep—and he doesn’t fight their pull as he tilts his chin back and tries to forget about what he left behind.

Jensen’s legs itch beneath the trousers he’s wearing, shoulders tense despite the soft cotton of his shirt. Inspiration abandoned him this morning; he couldn’t even bring himself to don one of his casual dresses. His wig is safely packed away with the rest of his belongings, and his face is free of make-up. Even Danneel is dressed for a day on the road, her hair unbound and shirt collar open down to her chest allowing the cool morning breeze to touch her skin. 

Earlier, the two of them had gathered their things from the hotel room without much in the way of exuberance or converation. Jensen could tell Danneel wanted to ask about Jared, but for the sake of his brittle state, she withheld her comments. He hadn’t been able to muster any joy or anticipation for moving onto the next town, something in which he usually took great pleasure.

The temperature in the coach begins to rise as the caravan makes its way out of the grove and onto the plain. Jensen comes out of his light doze—not nearly refreshing enough—to the dull _clomps_ of hooves passing by, Stephen’s voice growing faint as he and another rider gallop towards the front of the caravan. 

“Must’ve spotted something up ahead,” J.D. muses. Sounds like he didn’t get much in the way of sleep either—he and Danneel must’ve had one hell of a night.

Any other time, the sounds of the troupe would be a balm to the weariness left over after an eventful exhibition, but Jensen wishes he could wake up all over again; only this time, he would open his eyes and find Jared lying next to him. Staring at Jensen with those summer-sky eyes, sleepy smile on his face.

Jensen opens his eyes, unable to cope with his imaginings. Sitting across from him, Danneel attempts to smile, but her mood is subdued, too; Jensen’s sorrow is contagious. But she’s nothing if not determined. 

“You wanted to stay with him, didn’t you?”

It’s no use ignoring her in these close confines. Danneel knows exactly how to needle and pester until he caves. Doesn’t mean he wants J.D. here for the conversation.

“Danni…”

J.D. speaks up. “Talking about the damn gunslinger that cost me so much money?”

“His name’s Jared, remember?” Danneel supplies before Jensen can tell both of them to drop the subject. “And if Sheppard was telling the truth, you made out just fine, sugar.”

“I gather he was more than just a _distraction_ , then,” J.D. says. He looks at Danneel, something unspoken passing between them, leaving Jensen to wonder just how much his best friend has shared with their boss. “Did he ask you to stay?”

Jensen shakes his head. The question is like rubbing salt in a fresh wound.

J.D. turns back to his ledger. “It’s best not to think on it anymore,” he tells Jensen. “And if Jared figures that life on his own is better than taking—”

At first, Jensen doesn’t understand why J.D. cuts himself off, but then he hears a gunshot pierce the morning calm. It echoes across the land and comes back to knock Jensen’s heart into beating again. 

“What the hell?” J.D. moves so fast, the stagecoach rocks from side to side. He crouches by the window, and beyond him there’s a flurry of shouts and movement, Ty’s voice ringing out the loudest.

“Maybe they’re trying to scare off a rattlesnake,” Danneel says, voice shaking. But Jensen knows the sound of panic when he hears it.

His blood turns to ice at the sound of hoof-beats—at least half a dozen riders—thundering towards Morgan’s caravan. All Jensen sees through the windows are their own men taking cover, a flash of a dark coat as a horse gallops by.

“J.D?”

“Stay down,” J.D. hisses, waving his two beauties away from the windows. “Keep outta sight!”

More shots now, followed quickly by the dull impact of lead on dry, packed soil. Poor aim, or intentional warning shots? Jensen’s unable to make out what’s being shouted—his ears are beginning to ring like a church bell—but the expression on J.D.’s face says it all.

Trouble’s just come calling.

An unfamiliar voice roars through the standoff. “Where’s the boss at?”

Jensen quickly looks over at his old friend whose shoulders are tense, hard like an iron rail; he’s got one hand on the shiny silver piece holstered at his hip. J.D. pushes the coach door out, nothing but grit in his expression, and steps down in spite of Danneel whispering and reaching out for the back of his shirt.

“I’m the man you’re looking for.”

Danneel and Jensen scramble towards the door at the same time. The sight beyond turns Jensen’s knees to jelly, and he gasps before he remembers to slap a hand over his mouth.

Four men on horseback have their guns leveled at J.D., keeping anyone else from the troupe in their sights. Two other bandits on foot are wielding shotguns, one trained on the stagecoach driver. With a sinking feeling, Jensen imagines that Stephen, Ty, and Cain are being held up as well somewhere along the caravan.

One of the men, no doubt their leader, waves his pistol at the door of the coach. “Anyone else in there with ya?” His teeth are yellowed from spending too much time chewing on the end of a cigar, voice rough and cutting like a landslide. His clothes are old and plain, frayed at the seams and covered in dust, but the single-barreled mare’s leg in his hand appears brand new, the bullets in his belt catching the light. With the sun in his eyes, Jensen can’t be sure, but he thinks he might’ve seen this man in one of the saloons they’d just visited. 

“I’d sure feel a lot better if’n we were all out here, face to face!”

That leaves no time for Jensen or Danneel to grab the hidden pistol from under the bench seat. Swallowing the nerves as best he can, Jensen steps out first, hands up, Danneel coming out behind him. They stand on either side of J.D., eyes forward. Jensen felt helpless in the coach, but now that he’s outside facing the threat without the comfort of a gun in his hand, he’d rather be anywhere else.

“Much better,” the bandit drawls, tipping his hat up. “She’s a sight for sore eyes, ain’t she, fellas?”

The men chuckle, the sound rising and falling like cicadas coming out at night. Of _course_ they would focus on Danneel—probably haven’t seen a woman like her in their entire lives, because in spite of her traveling clothes, there’s no disguising her beauty—and Jensen wonders if that kind of distraction might prove useful.

“What do you want?” J.D. challenges.

“I think it’s pretty obvious,” the bandit replies, mouth twisting into a nasty leer. “I figure y’all made out pretty good in that town back there—thought you might be willing to share all that money. If not, well…” He looks around at his men, each more rugged than the last. A posse that roams and plunders, and Morgan’s troupe has the misfortune of being their latest target. “…we’ll just kill y’all and take it anyway.”

J.D. stands his ground, unflinching. This is hardly the first time he’s come under attack—Jensen’s been around for more than one stick-up since they set out—but this feels different. A larger band of thieves, for one, and J.D.’s troupe is tired and worn down from a long stay in town.

“We don’t want any trouble,” J.D. tells them, “you’re welcome to the money”—his voice drops to a more threatening octave—“but then you’d best be on your way.”

The leader pretends to consider his offer. “Or we could stay a while,” he says. “Y’all were pretty entertaining back in town. Maybe we want our own show.”

It’s Danneel who fires back. “Wouldn’t mind showing you how well we can shoot.”

Jensen admires her fire, but unfortunately that draws the bandit’s attention back to her, his yellowed smile growing wide. Watching the way Danneel’s gaze narrows, Jensen wonders if he needs to hold her back. 

“Bet you can do all sorts of things, sweetheart,” he sneers, the men behind him snickering. “Why don’t you come over here?”

“Wait a min—”

The bandit swings his gun back around, sights set on J.D.’s forehead. “Keep your mouth shut, boss-man! Or I’ll start shooting. I’ve got men in the bluffs all around—you won’t make it one step before one of ‘em puts you down.”

Jensen’s knees threaten to give out. He knows these men aren’t going to leave them be even if J.D. hands over every last cent. Somewhere along the caravan, he pictures Sheppard clinging tight to their money. His glare would unnerve even the stoutest of men, but it’s no match for more than a dozen guns.

Danneel steps forward; J.D. twitches like he’s contemplating throwing himself in front of her. The leader dismounts and walks up to her, filthy fingers trailing down her arm where she’s rolled up her sleeves. A sudden sickness overtakes Jensen. Deep breaths become impossible, and the sourness rises until it hits the back of his throat. His entire body goes numb when one of the men holding a shotgun turns his eyes on Jensen, his wide, gaping smile missing more than a few teeth.

“Hey, Poplar,” the man says, addressing the man in charge, “got another pretty one back there.”

Poplar looks at Jensen and shrugs. “Not quite to my taste, but you’re welcome to him.”

The man barely takes a step before J.D. leaps forward. “Don’t you dare!” Within a blink, his fist connects with the bandit’s jaw, the snap of bone audible. The posse surges forward, guns waving and tempers flaring. 

In the chaos, Jensen hears Poplar shouting. “You’re gonna pay for that, boss-man! Take him down!”

Time stops as Jensen waits for the shot, but it never comes. Poplar’s men cease their charge and look around—if Poplar had men in the bluffs, something’s gone wrong. The man at J.D.’s feet begins shuffling back towards his fellow bandits like a snake slithering out of the sun.

Poplar’s eyes are wild. He brandishes his gun over his head and shouts to his men. “Someone shoot the bastard! Then we’ll take his money!” When he drops his arm, his gun is pointed straight past Morgan’s shoulder.

Directly at Jensen’s head.

“This one’ll look even prettier with a hole in his face,” he says, and Jensen can only watch as Poplar’s hand tenses, finger on the trigger.

A shot rings out, and the pistol falls from Poplar’s hand. The bandit curls in on himself, mouth open in a silent scream of pure agony, before he collapses to his knees and drops dead in the dirt. A gush of blood under his belly turns the grass from sun-scalded brown to sticky red. 

Everyone freezes for a moment as the echo of that single shot comes back. As soon as it hits, mayhem returns. Poplar’s men begin to scramble, their bullets shooting holes in the clouds. Danneel spins around and sends a swift kick into the groin of the man behind her—Jensen watched her disarm bigger men on a weekly basis down in New Orleans—and he sinks faster than a rock in a river. J.D. pulls his gun and takes out two men on horseback. Their mounts whinny in distress before wheeling away and galloping off, wounded riders sagging in their saddles.

More bullets zip in out of nowhere and find their mark in the shoulders and knees of Poplar’s men. Now that their leader is dead, several turn tail and ride off into the bluffs. J.D. yanks Jensen and Danneel behind their stagecoach as Ty and Stephen emerge and take out the remaining bandits. Before long, only three are left. When they discover that they’re now outnumbered, they drop their guns and surrender.

J.D. is the first to stand, and he helps Danneel to her feet.

“What the hell happened?” Stephen shouts, running towards them. He and Ty hustle to disarm the remaining thieves, stripping them of their ammunition and knives, and forcing them to their knees. The wounded bandits are treated similarly, dragged over to sit with their comrades. 

J.D. shakes his head. “Seems like someone was looking out for us.”

“I think I know who it was,” Danneel says in wonderment, staring over Jensen’s shoulder and into the morning sun at a dark figure standing atop the nearest bluff alongside a horse. Jensen assumes that it’s another bandit until he sees the cavalry hat pulled low over the man’s prominent brow and the long, lean shadow he casts.

He gasps. “Jared?”

The gunslinger walks towards the caravan as he slides his Colt back into his holster. Jensen can’t believe it—he simply _can’t_. But he blinks away the spots of light obscuring his vision and sees Jared leading a sturdy, brown gelding and smiling like he’s just walked out of Jensen’s dreams.

Jensen stands and prays his legs don’t give out. He feels bare despite his plain clothing—Jared’s never seen him like this, and he wouldn’t survive if Jared found him unappealing now.

“What are you doing here?”

Jared’s smile doesn’t let up, but his eyes soak Jensen in from head to toe. “I guess you could say I’m having a busier morning than I expected,” he teases.

Jensen fails to hear J.D. coming forward until he stops beside Jensen’s shoulder. “That was you?”

Jared nods. “Came upon some shooters hiding in the bluffs. Wasn’t hard to get the drop on ‘em once I saw what they were doing.”

“You shot their leader,” Jensen adds uselessly when no other words come to him.

“Of course I did,” Jared says fiercely. “Jen—” His eyes find Jensen’s, something close to an apology in those warm, swirling greens. The tension Jensen’s been carrying in his chest all morning begins to unwind. He doesn’t care how or why Jared’s here, but he knows he won’t be able to let him go again if Jared’s not here to stay.

J.D. stomps into their moment. “That was a hell of a shot. You’re worth much more than I paid you.”

Looking away from Jensen for the first time since he appeared, Jared drops his chin, forever reserved when it comes to his skills. 

Leaving the bandits under Ty’s watch, Stephen approaches the stagecoach and holds out his hand. “You saved our livelihood,” he tells Jared, “and not to mention our lives. Thanks, cowboy.”

“He’s no cowboy,” Jensen says. 

Jared’s answering smile is more beautiful than a desert sunrise, all that heat directed at Jensen. He drops the reins and strides across the grass, sweeping Jensen into his arms and kissing him in front of the entire troupe. Jensen grips him tightly, wants to make sure he’s _here_ and real, and ignores the whistles and cheers from his friends. He wants to cry out in joy, let the West know how grateful he is for this man, but he’ll settle for this, pressing his mouth against Jared’s and tasting what he thought he’d never have again.

Now that they’re out of danger, relief spreads throughout the troupe as everyone happily prepares the caravan to head out once more. When Jared lets Jensen go, only J.D. and Danneel are standing there watching.

“Were you tracking us?” Jensen asks.

“Trying to catch up, actually.”

“I didn’t think you were coming,” J.D. says. “When we talked, you said—”

“I changed my mind.”

Confused, Jensen turns to Jared. “What are you talking about?”

After sharing a look with J.D., Jared says, “Your boss offered me a job.”

“I told him I’d be crazy to leave a sharpshooter like that behind. I could use a ringer like him.” Morgan laughs at the dumbfounded expression on Jensen’s face. “But he turned me down.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Jensen waves his finger between them. “Why didn’t _either_ of you tell me?”

“He said no,” J.D. reminds him, “so there was nothing to tell.”

“And I didn’t want to hurt you even more,” Jared says, words meant only for Jensen.

Happiness and anger fight to control Jensen’s heart. There can be no victor until Jared answers one more question.

“Why’d you change your mind?”

Aware of the seriousness of the moment, J.D. and Danneel move away, J.D.’s wide palm on the small of her back as a physical comfort. Jensen imagines that the events of this morning will stick with all of them for a long time to come, but for now they’re all alive and unharmed.

“I left town as early as I could,” Jared tells him. “I knew that if I stayed any longer, I wouldn’t be able to go. But as I was riding outta town, something just felt _wrong_ —like I wasn’t where I was supposed to be. When I turned back, I ran across a man re-shoeing his horse on the trail. He’s the one who told me about the rumors of bandits in the area lookin’ for easy prey. I rode as fast as I could, Jensen…”

Somehow Jensen knows that Jared is remembering his brother, the corners of his mouth beginning to drop. He wraps his arms around the gunslinger and leans into his embrace.

“You made it, Jared,” he whispers. “I’m safe—we’re all safe, thanks to you.”

It’s not Jensen’s imagination; Jared’s hold on him tightens.

“You’re going to stay?” Jensen asks. “Join the exhibition?”

Jared collects himself quickly. “I realized I don’t have to settle down in order to have you. And I think this life might suit me.”

“It will,” Jensen says. “I promise.”

When the caravan is ready to head out, Jensen elects to ride with Jared for a little while on one of Misha’s horses. Danneel tosses him a knowing smirk before she and J.D. step into the stagecoach together. Ty has added the bandits’ weapons to their stock of arms and ammunition while Misha herded their horses. Stephen and Cain, who appeared with Sheppard moments ago, sent the wounded men away after dressing their wounds as best they could, more than one threat delivered in case the remaining thieves were harboring thoughts of revenge. But they scurried off as quickly as they could, grateful to be leaving with their lives. Unlike Poplar.

The dead are dragged far off the road, left for the buzzards and coyotes.

“Where are we heading?” Jared asks as he leads Jensen over to his horse. The magnificent animal looks up as if he’s impatient to get back on the trail. Next to the gelding is Jensen’s favorite horse: a calm, tawny mare that’s been in their herd for years. She’s already saddled and ready to go.

“California,” Jensen tells him. “Ever been?”

“No, but I’ve always wanted to see the ocean,” Jared says. “Which reminds me…” 

Reaching into his duster, Jared pulls out a small object. It catches the sunlight and shines in Jared’s palm. Jensen only needs a few seconds to recognize the fine craftsmanship of the turquoise bracelet he’d so admired in Charlie’s emporium. 

“I was looking for something that would remind me of you,” he explains, taking Jensen’s wrist and stroking the skin softly before fitting the silver cuff over his arm. “I’m guessin’ you know who might’ve suggested this piece in particular.”

The bracelet suits Jensen perfectly. The original owner was forced to give it up in order to pursue his love, but it found its way to Jared, now binding the two of them together. It is, by far, the most meaningful token Jensen has ever received. 

His gratitude is written in a kiss that Jared eagerly accepts. Jensen vaguely recognizes that the coaches and wagons are beginning to move, but he doesn’t pull away and neither does Jared. The sound of hooves and creaking wheels starts to fade. Soon, Jared and Jensen are alone on the road, only their horses left to watch over them. Jensen isn’t worried—they’ll catch up to the caravan eventually.

They may have all the time in the world, but Jensen doesn’t intend to waste a single moment.

 

FIN.

**Author's Note:**

> I wasn’t going to participate in BB this year, but around March I remembered that I had started a short story which I really enjoyed. It was a PWP featuring Jensen wearing a corset, and Jared the gunslinger. It was based on an episode of one of my favorite older television series, The Magnificent Seven. I decided that it would be fun (*eyeroll*) to expand the story and give it a little more background, a little more porn, and a nice, happy ending. Three months later I have a full Harlequin Western, and I couldn’t be happier. 
> 
> **thanks.** I have to thank cackling_madly for choosing my story right away and being so excited to get started. I knew that the prompt might not appeal to everyone, but I was clearly chosen by the PERFECT artist. We were totally meant to be. She wanted to draw the exact same scenes I envisioned, and she’s done some fantastic work! Her Jensen is GORGEOUS, as he should be, and Danneel and Jared popped right out of my head and into her drawings. She worked her tail off, so PLEASE PLEASE leave her some love!
> 
> I am MASSIVELY grateful to one_2_3_4 and dugindeep for helping me whip this thing into shape! one_2_3_4 had the first read through, and without her suggestions this would have ended up as a shell of a story – good, but missing all the best parts. She’s also the one who came up with the ending, although I wish she’d told me sooner :P dugindeep polished up the beta in record time and saved me from posting incomplete paragraphs. She was always there with cheerleading duties towards the end! Thank you, and I love you both ♥ ♥ ♥
> 
> And of course, thank you to my own _posse_ who never let me give up on this story 
> 
> As always, thanks to the wendy for putting this together! Big Bang is a drug, and you’re my supplier.


End file.
